A Light Shining Through The Darkness
by Bigdogz09
Summary: The Rage launch party at Babylon was two days earlier. Justin is now missing…
1. Chapter 1

**Folks, please note that this fic was originally posted as the rating of "M," but it will be shown in "T" at times. Please look for it in the future under "M" or "T". Thanks.**

_**Disclaimer: This story is not for profit nor intended for profit.**_

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><p><strong>A LIGHT SHINING THROUGH THE DARKNESS<strong>

**Chapter One:**

_**Detective Carl Horvath's POV**_

The uptight, pretty blonde lady lets me know with a slight twitch of her upper lip, that she doesn't welcome my interruption. She smears on a broad smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "May I help you?"

I fake a smile back at her, though my smile is far more practiced and far more intimidating. "I'm looking for a Mr. Brian Kinney, I believe he works here?"

Her smile widens, it's almost as if she's challenging me to fake-smile competition, "Mr. Kinney is unavailable at this time. May I get your name and the name of company that you present?"

"Detective Carl Horvath, and this is Detective Barney Rolsky, we're with the Pittsburgh Police Department." I pull out my badge and hold it up to her face. "Would you tell Mr. Kinney that this is important? I'm here on official business."

The blonde lady's smile falters, but she makes an admirable save. She slowly stands up behind her desk, her eyes are now as wide as her smile, "Excuse me, I'll be right back." She takes a couple of steps and then stops and turns back to me. Her lowered voice cracks when she speaks, "This is in regards to….?"

I stare down my nose at her, and chew out, "I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am. Go and see if he'll talk with us, please?"

She nods, and briskly steps over to the large wooden door looming behind her. She rapidly knocks on the door, but enters before she receives an answer.

Barney is frowning, and he resembles a bulldog. He and I are both taking in the surroundings and they're impressive. It's one of those fancy, snooty-expensive offices. Barney's irritated because he's feeling intimidated. I'm frowning because my Sear's special-red-dot-sale suit is feeling hot and heavy, and my new polyester shirt is sticking to my back.

_Boy, would I love to peal out of this monkey suit, grab an ice cold Bud, and flake out on the couch, in front of the air conditioner._

I check out Barney's appearance. I'm smugly gratified to see large sweat stains spreading out from under his armpits of his suit.

_Kinney…I know he's one of those guys Debbie calls her 'lost boys'…I might as well kiss my chances with her good-bye, because who knows how this is going to turn out._

Barney is bobbing his head like he's listening to a silent rock band. I elbow him to knock it off.

The lady comes out of the office and gestures to us to enter.

_This guy's sure as hell has done well for himself. Not bad for a mick fag from the wrong side of the tracks._

I take a long look around Kinney's private office; it's nice, real nice. _Real expensive looking furniture, more expensive looking than the furniture out in the lobby._ He's got those abstract, artsy-fartsy types of pictures on the wall. A ping of envy shoots through my gut. _No fucking big deal, I've been to better places. Way better than this. _

Kinney looks like he's had a rough night.

_Interesting. _

He's dressed up to the nines. _That suit probably costs as much as a week of my salary. _

"Detective Horvath, we meet again."

I nod my head in reply. _Yep, he's a real smartass, this one. He looks hung over today. It seems every other time I've seen Kinney, he's been drunk…Just another alcoholic mick._

_No fear in his eyes. That's good for him, not so much for me._

"Mr. Kinney, thanks for seeing us. I'm Detective Carl Horvath, as you know. This is my partner, Detective Barney Rolsky. We need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. We're investigating a missing person case. Someone you know. You may want to make this a private conversation."

I glance at the lady. Kinney gets my drift and dismisses her with a "Thanks, Cynthia. Hold all my calls, please."

Cynthia hesitates, he nods her to leave.

"So, what's – ah, please have a seat…So, who's missing? One of Claire's – my sister Claire - kids?"

Barney and I sit. Kinney sits behind his desk and crosses his hands in front of himself. He looks bored and isn't trying too hard to hide it.

_Still no fear in his eyes._ He meets my stare with a firm gaze.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my note pad. This is where Barney and I work our shtick. I act casual, he'll watch like a hawk, until it's time for him to be up at bat. I'm watching too. We're looking for excessive sweating, twitching, and lack of eye contact – all the signs of a guilty conscious.

_Kinney, let's see if you're our man._

I take a deep breath and huff it out. It's time to start the show.

"Mr. Kinney, we've been told that you are an acquaintance of a Mr. Justin Taylor? You are…were…boyfriends? I know this true, so don't try to deny it." I follow up my last sentence with a humorless laugh, it intentionally sounds harsh. I watch him closely.

"We are - were - together, yes." Kinney breaks eye contact with me and focuses on his computer screen. I can tell he's not really registering what's on it.

"Mr. Kinney, Justin Taylor has been reported missing by his friend, a Miss Daphne Chanders and his mother, Mrs. Jennifer Taylor. He's been missing now for thirty eight hours. Would you happen to know where he is?"

Kinney slowly looks back at me. His pupils have turned into pinpoints. He looks like he's holding his breath. He hoarsely responses, "No. He…I saw him two days – nights, ago. He was at…he left. He left with the chin rat…Ian...Ethan. He left with Ethan Gold."

I can tell Kinney's blood pressure is going up, I can tell by the color rising in his face. I can hear anger creeping into his voice.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"That was the last time…two nights ago. At Babylon. The dance club. I was hosting a launch party for his comic book, _Rage_."

He goes quiet and fades out, distracted by his own thoughts.

I pull him back into the conversation, "So, are you sure? That was the absolute last time you saw him?"

He looks at me and nods. He cops a condescending attitude and dismissively sniffs back a reply, "_Detective_, Justin has run away before…_and_ that is probably what has happened now. Maybe Ian…Ethan… and he fought and he's sulking somewhere. Have you considered _that_?"

I glance at Barney – that's his cue. He takes over.

"Mr. Kinney, we've been told that you and Mr. Taylor argued that evening. That there was a fight. We're told that he actually broke up with _you_ that night and left with his new boyfriend. Someone said you got into quite an argument with him. You were heard telling him that he was as '_good as dead_.' Is that right, _**Mr. Kinney**_? _Did_ you threaten him?" Barney is sitting on the edge of his chair now, getting into the part of the aggravator. Practically everything he has said is bullshit, but that's what we're here to do. Poke the bear and sees how he reacts.

Kinney looked like he was about to swallow his tongue.

"That's _**bullshit**_! Who the _**fuck**_ told you that shit? He left…there wasn't any fight. No words…He just left. That was it. He wasn't happy…seeing me f-…seeing me with someone, so he left. Whoever told you that crap is lying."

Barney pokes again, "So, he broke up with you, so you were hurt. And angry? You were so angry that you wanted to hurt him, isn't that right Mr. Kinney?"

Kinney stood up with such force that he sends his chair crashing into the wall behind him. "This is bullshit." He straightens his clothes, adjusts his tie and then sneers at us. "He dumped me. Okay? No fights, no threats, no…nothing. Hundreds of people can refute every word of crap someone told you about a fight. There was no fight! I would never hurt him…definitely, not physically. I know what you're doing here, and this is not the time or the place for it. This is where I work, detective! Now get the hell out. Now!"

Barney and I share a glance and then get up.

I look onto Kinney's eyes. "Fine, would you consent to meet with us down at the precinct? Finish going through our questions?"

Kinney curtly responds with a "Fine! I'll call and make an appointment."

I hand him one of my cards and he snatches it from my fingers. His face is one long, angry scowl.

I politely smile back at him, "Thanks, Mr. Kinney. We really appreciate your time. We'll be waiting for your call."

I nod to Barney to head for the door.

As we both turn towards the door, Kinney rounds his desk and barks at me, "You need to talk to the fucking fiddler! _He_ was the last one with him!"

Barney and I nod in unison back at him and turn again to leave.

"Wait!" Kinney is right behind me and grabs my shoulder. I turn and knock his hand off. He takes a couple of steps back. "Listen…I want to know – please tell me when you hear something." He's swallowing a lot now. I see fear in his eyes now. But not the kind I was looking for – not guilty. This fear is coming from his soul…if you believe in that and I do.

He clears his throat and through gritted teeth, he quietly pleads, "Please."

I quickly nod my head at him, then turn and tap Barney's shoulder to lead the way out the door.

Back at our car, as Barney is buckling his seatbelt, he asks me, "What do you think?"

I shrug my shoulders and respond, "Don't know. It's too soon. But I'm sure this will be like all our other cases…I'll be surprised if we're surprised by anything."

Yep, in my thirty-two years on the force, I'm rarely surprised by anything anymore…mostly. But every now and then, someone or something does surprise me.

I quietly say, "Nope. It's way too soon."

I ask who's next on the list.

"Chris Hobbs."

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Folks, please note that this fic was originally posted as the rating of "M," but it will be shown in "T" at times. Please look for it in the future under "M" or "T". Thanks.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

_**Detective Carl Horvath's POV**_

Chris Hobbs ends up surprising us, starting from the moment we meet him. We expected arrogance, attitude, and resistance. Instead, he was polite, nervous, and quiet. He said he would only talk with us back at the precinct. Not a problem, we actually preferred that, too.

_That's a nice little surprise, him cooperating. Normally, shitheads like Hobbs always seem to cause us problems. _

Later that day, while I review my notes on Taylor's case, I mentally file away a sad realization. Though all of my suspects on the case - Gold, Kinney, and Hobbs - seem to be very different because of their looks, background, and achievements, they all share similar personality traits. All three men are arrogant, self-centered, and controlling… and all have a hidden dark side that is too close to the surface.

_Okay, Justin… I get you now. You were – are – one of those types that 'sees the trees instead of the forest.' You overlook people's flaws and love the person that they "really" are inside, right? Well, unfortunately buddy, many of the victims in my cases are just like you. Maybe you should have stood back and looked a little longer at the forest._

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><p>Hobbs shows up at the precinct alone, without friend, family, or representation. If I had his history, I would've had a fucking lawyer strapped to my back. Right off the bat, he informs us that he has nothing to do with the disappearance of Taylor. He regrets "getting mixed up with that faggot" and he doesn't "do trouble" anymore. He's a changed man. He's got a new life, has a new girlfriend, and now "walks with the Lord"… yada, yada, yada.<p>

After Hobbs' little speech, Barney settles in for the long haul and lets me take over.

I intentionally stare long and hard at Hobbs; just stare at him, for a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds. I'm trying to make him nervous; he looks a little too smug and comfortable. My little trick works like a charm and within minutes, the smugness has slipped off his face and he's struggling to maintain eye contact. But the ex-jock and former high school bully hasn't given up the Host. Nope, he's still trying to be a tough guy and put on a brave show.

I'm poking the bear today.

"So, Hobbs, you've got serious history with Taylor. I read all the police reports and trial records about your attack on him. Let me get this straight, he gave you a hand job. You liked it. Then you hound the guy, and finally bash his brains out at the prom, 'coz he wouldn't dance with you. Right?"

Hobb's face takes on a sour sneer. He pops out a "Fuck you" at me.

"No sir. I'm no fag, but you are, aren't you?" I lean across the small table and get into his face and get snarling. "You tried to kill him before, and then you went back to finish the job, didn't you? What did he do, turn you down again? Did you want more than a hand job this time? He told friends and family that he saw you at some AIDS house and you threatened him. Or, did he _threaten_ you? Was he going to go to your parole officer and turn you in?"

During my entire attack, Hobbs is frantically shaking his head 'no' and trying to interrupt me with his own version of events, "He's lying! No fucking way! He wanted me; he was always coming onto me! I haven't seen him since then. He's lying – I never said anything to him at that shitty place. He has nothing on me! He wanted _me_, 'coz he's a sick-"

I shout in his face, banging on the table, "WHERE IS JUSTIN TAYLOR? I don't have time for this shit, Hobbs! You killed him, didn't you Hobbs? He said 'no' one too many times? Or was he twisting a knife in your gut… he flaunted his ass at you, but this time, he was setting _you_ up! He wanted money, right or just to get back at you;… you finally had enough, didn't you?"

I lean in closer, just inches away from his face, and then try a new tactic. I'm now cool-hand-Luke intense and but I keep my voice lowered, "You killed him, didn't you son? Come on, we can help you. Let us help you. I don't blame you, who could? The faggot wouldn't leave you alone, so you took matters into your own hands… it's okay… we get it… hell, some faggot coming onto me – fuck that! You had to kill him, didn't you, son?"

I can't believe it, his lips starts to quiver, and he starts swallowing hard, like he's trying not to cry. I have to admit it; I'm surprised that Hobbs is breaking down so soon. _I thought he was a lot tougher than this…I thought he would last through at least an hour of interrogation…_

He starts to sniffle and wipe unshed tears out of his eyes. _Shit…_ It looks like he's got a big emotional struggle going on.

"No! You don't understand… I never wanted to hurt him. It just happened… that older guy and he started dancing, it was like nobody else mattered, and they're showing off… fucking assholes… it just happened – back then. But at that house… he just…he just stood at that fucking AIDS place, just looking at me. Acting like he _**fucking**_ didn't know me! Like he didn't know ME! Then, he gets scared! Yeah! He's fucking terrified… and it felt good! I wanted… wait… wait, I didn't mean that… that didn't sound right... I didn't do anything to him… I'm not talking anymore. I want my lawyer. I'm not answering any more questions until I get my lawyer."

I look at Barney; he's shocked now, too. _Are we close to something here? Am I about to be further surprised by Chris Hobbs?_

I lean back, "Chris, you're not under arrest. You don't need a lawyer. You can go at any time, we're just talking here. Just guys talking. No worries, right?"

I'm back on the offense again, but now trying a new tactic. I'm going to be the "kinder, gentler" interrogator. I punched through his defenses, now I need to carefully pull down the wall, one brick at a time, if necessary.

I reach over and place my hand on his arm, squeezing it in a reassuring manner. I retract it as before it makes him uncomfortable. I'm now going to be his friend, loving father, grandfather, or uncle – whatever the fuck it takes.

"Son, I think there's something you want to get off of your chest… Am I right? Listen, I mean it. If you talk now, I may be able to get you a deal. But hey, buddy… Chris… you have to take this opportunity now, because it probably won't come again. You know how this works."

Hobbs is chewing on his nails and is fixated on the table top. He's not looking at me, but I know he can hear every word I'm saying.

I continue on, calmly coaxing, "Come on, just talk to Barney and me. You don't have to talk to anybody else; we'll handle it all for you. Just tell me what happened between you and Justin last Wednesday night. Come on. You can do it. Tell me now, Chris, before it's too late."

Hobbs looks confused and is blinking rapidly - then his face freezes for a moment. He chuckles, but there's no humor in his voice. Instead, I hear frustration and anger. He seems to have gotten a second wind and now he sits up and with a wry smile and an understated, belligerent attitude.

"Wednesday? Shit… _Wednesday night? _I was working the night shift at the construction site, from four p.m. until four a.m.! I've got twenty guys that will tell you where I was every, fucking single minute. _Wednesday?_ Damn… And Thursday, I was with Judy, my girlfriend, all morning. I slept at her house after I got off my shift on Wednesday. Then, I stayed at her place and went straight from her house back to the site, just like Wednesday!"

He flops back in his chair and rubs his eyes, quietly cursing. "I didn't fucking do anything to him… you're just trying screw to with me, get me to confess something… pin it on me, so that you can close this case. Well, fuck you!"

He looks tired but relieved. Oddly enough, he doesn't look happy. I wonder why, especially if he's got such a strong alibi. I watch him withdraw into some thought or memory.

Barney pipes out, "Chris, would you take a lie detector test swearing that you don't have anything to do with Justin Taylor's disappearance?"

He nods his head and tersely responses, "Yeah. Not a problem."

A few minutes later, as Hobbs is leaving, he snidely asks, "His boyfriend… did you talk to him?"

I respond with, "Which one, his old one or new one?"

Hobbs' face twists in confusion, "New one?"

Barney quips back, "Yeah, he got himself a new one."

Hobbs' face twists again, but now into an insinuating, ugly smirk, "Older and richer?"

Barney replies, "Nope, young and poor. Like you."

Wonder fills Hobbs' face. He rapidly blinks as if he's trying to clear his vision, "Like me?"

Barney smiles at him, though coming from a bulldog face, it doesn't look very friendly. "Well, not really like you. He's all artsy. The boyfriend's a musician."

Then something happens, it happens fast – but Barney and I both catch it. We see Hobbs' true feelings flash on his face like someone turned on a neon sign. He quickly shuts it down and replaces it with a well-practiced mask of hatred. He spits out, "Fucking faggots!"

_Too late tough guy, we saw you._

We clearly saw jealousy and yearning. Hobbs still has feelings for Justin Taylor. Feelings that are still strong. He still is struggling with them and himself.

Later, as Barney and I clear out our things from the interrogation room, I hear Barney mutter, "Nothing worse than a fucking hypocrite."

"_What?_"

"Hobbs, he's a fucking hypocrite. I have no respect for that shit. _Who's he trying to kid_? You could tell that he's still 'jonesing' for Taylor! He's like one of those damn ministers; they condemn fags to Hell and then get caught getting their dicks sucked in a public toilet. At least the Taylor kid had a backbone."

I respond before I think, "Yeah, well look at what it got him. Someone already tried to kill him once because of it. Maybe the second time was the charm."

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><p><em><strong>Brian Kinney's POV<strong>_

I pulled out my cell phone and dial his cell number. I just want to hear his voice.

"Hi, this is Justin. Sorry I missed you. Please leave a message and your number, and I'll get back to you. Thanks!"

An automated message comes on, telling me that his message center is full. I've lost count how many times I've called that number now. I seem to call it almost every couple of hours - sometimes more, especially at night.

I ignore that tape playing in my head; it's my father's voice telling me that I'm pathetic. I don't need to be reminded.

I've called Horvath so many times that he's on the verge of wringing my neck. There's been an interesting triangle of blame and accusations that's developed. I suspect and blame the fiddler and Hobbs. They blame me and each other.

_Under what cup is the magician's little red ball hidden? Actually, that would be a blond ball… _

It's been five days and nothing. No word from Justin, no leads, nothing. I seek out family but as soon as I'm around them, I can't stand it and have to leave.

It's evening, at twilight time. I get out of the jeep and decide to walk to the nearby liquor store before I head up to the loft. It's a warm evening, but there's a light breeze. It's actually pleasant. I momentarily imagine that Justin is by my side.

Then I hear it and stop in my tracks.

It's a horrible, screeching sound. It sounds like a cat is being tortured. Rage begins to build in me as I head towards the noise. I cross the street and go into the park. Off in the distance, I see him. He's playing under a wooden gazebo; a few people have stopped to listen to him.

_There he is… Fucking Ian… you motherfucker!_

I start walking faster, but after a few seconds, I break into a jog. Some sixth sense makes him look up in my direction and I can tell that he immediately registers that it's me. He slam-packs his shit together in seconds and then scurries away in the opposite direction of my approach.

_Fucking rat!_

I yelled out, "Ethan! ETHAN!"

I see him break into a full run and I follow suit. He's got a good lead on me and he's a fast little fucker, but I'm gaining on him. He zooms into a crowd and I'm now getting close enough to him to read the cheesy stickers on his violin case.

I lose sight of him.

_SHIT! _

I'm pissed, but not giving up the hunt. I run down an alley, it looks like a place that a rodent would want to hide. I trip and stub my toe on a paint can. In a full fury, I pick it up and smash it into the side of a dumpster. I then go on a rampage. I kick in boxes, trash garbage cans, break crates – I'm smashing everything in my path.

Every time I smash something, I image Ethan's face. Every stomp is on his backbone, and every kick is to his ribs.

Exhaustion finally stops me. Without any care or concern for my Armani silk suit, I lean against a slimy wall and slowly slide down it.

Sweat is pouring down my back, arms, face – just everywhere. I just now notice that my hands are cut and bleeding and my suit has stains on it and is torn in places. I just don't give a shit.

I feel a burning sting in my eyes and I swallow hard. I push back against the pressure building in my throat.

_Fucking crying like a fairy, huh, Sonny Boy? Fuck you, Pops…_

I look up at the sky. Streaks of color adorn the sky, beautiful purples, pale pinks and oranges.

He would love it. He could capture it perfectly in a painting.

_Why did I do those things to you?_

_Yeah, I thought I would throw you from the cliff, give you a couple of days to re-think things, and then quietly accept you back. What a wiser twink you would be…_

_But, it didn't happen that way. Nope, instead, he came, that greasy haired weasel… and he took you away from me… _

_Why did I get so mad? What was I thinking?_

_Why did I do that? _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

_**Detective Carl Horvath's POV**_

I turn to Barney and say, "Keep it running."

I leave the car and enter the diner.

_Damn… this place is packed to the rafters… all these people are waiting for a table? The food's not that good. Where is Kinney? _

Deb is standing near the door and sees me as soon as I enter. She opens her mouth to shout a greeting, but I shush her with a hand signal. She looks like she swallowed an egg when I quiet her, but she quickly recovers. She weaves through the crowd, shoving and smacking shoulders and backs, to get over me. When she reaches me, she leans into my shoulder and whispers, "What is it? Did you find him?"

I shake my head 'no'.

She hangs her head in frustrated pain. I gather her in my right arm and give her a hug. It's been awhile since I gave someone a hug. I guess I'm out of practice, but I seem to manage it okay.

_She feels good._ She places her hand on my cheek. _I like it when she does that, it feels good. It's like her hands can send warmth and comfort into my body._

I whisper into her ear, "Let's keep this quiet. I need to talk to Brian Kinney."

Deb's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. I bump my index finger against my lips, reminding her to keep quiet. I quickly reassure her with, "It's fine. Nothing's going on. Okay? Just routine stuff."

She attempts a smile and points me in the direction of one of my three prime suspects.

I give her a reassuring squeeze, then I make my way the through the noisy, jostling crowd, until I end up at Kinney's table.

He's got three guys sitting with him. A couple of them look familiar. Deb's son is there, Michael.

I casually smack Kinney's chest with the back of my hand; he jumps because I've taken him by complete surprise. A tendril of anger tightens my throat and I quietly croak out, "Get up, you're coming with me."

Kinney hesitates so I discretely grab his upper arm and squeeze it hard. I hiss into his ear, "I said get up, now. You can pick the way you want to go – calmly or in pain."

Kinney slowly gets up and I now notice that Michael, who is sitting next to Kinney, starts getting upset and is clambering out of the booth to join us I stop him with a warning hand. In a subdued but firm tone of voice, I say, "Stop right there, buddy. Do not interfere with official police business. Get back."

I'm almost embarrassed for Debbie, because Michael starts to whimpers in protest and then loudly whines out a call, trying to get her attention. "_Waiiiit_, what's going on? Brian, don't go with him! Where's Maw? _Maw_?" Fortunately, for everyone concerned, the noise of the crowd makes his efforts useless.

Kinney lowers his voice and tries to silence Michael with, "Shut up, Michael! Sit down and stay out of this!"

Unfortunately, Michael isn't the most obedient or smartest pup in the litter. He starts babbling back a protest and it looks like he's going to try to leave the booth again. Suddenly, one of the guys sitting on the other side of the booth's table - a big, muscular, nice looking kind of guy - reaches over and grabs Michael, and pulls him back into the seat. Then, the guy then holds Michael in place, and starts whispering good sense to him. He tells Michael to calm down, sit still, or he'll get Brian into trouble by his interfering.

The guy got his point across and Michael doesn't move, but now he looks like he's about to cry.

_Yeah … Deb told me that she had her fair share of strife and struggle for most of her life. I bet dimes-to-donuts, that Michael's middle name is "Strife-and-Struggles."_

I secure my grip on Kinney's upper arm and whisper in his ear, "Don't be a smartass and try to set off this crowd."

There's always the potential of a calm crowd turning into a rioting horde. It can start like a flash fire, especially in a crowd that's charged up or have some sort of emotional connection – like the fights that break out in the stands at sporting events, and then spread out, disrupting the game. So, that's why I'm rushing him out of here. I don't want these guys proving to me that they know how to throw a punch.

Kinney throws me an exasperated, smart-aleck look; that's his way of telling me that he's not going to try anything stupid.

Leaving the diner is proving to be far easier than when I entered. It's actually turning into a weird experience. The crowd parts for us, like the sea opening for Moses. It's as if they can sense that Kinney is near, or maybe they've been covertly watching him. For whatever reason, the crowd separates for him as soon as he starts walking through them.

_Shit, Kinney's got some kind of weird power over these fruits… I gotta stop saying shit like that, or it'll come out when I'm not thinking… Deb won't like it… _

They're all giving him the come-hither look, which kind of gives me the creeps. I had heard rumored crap that he was some kind of major stud of something; but, I didn't think anything of it.

_I sure as hell didn't expect this. This is some kind of weird… I feel like fucking royalty, here… man, I wonder if they're going to start bowing? This is some shit!_

As soon as we're out of the joint, I make a quick B-line for the car while hauling Kinney along with me. I open the back door and shove Kinney in, then jump in the front seat beside Barney. Before my door is completely closed, Barney peels out of there.

We ride in silence. I glance back and check on Kinney from time to time. Each time I do, he lifts a mocking eyebrow at me, or he does this tongue-in-cheek thing.

_Don't push me Kinney; I'm **this** close to back-handing you right now. You're just lucky that I don't do that kind of shit._

Barney drives to "our place" – a private place inside an abandoned lumber yard where we take informants and similar scum to talk without interruption, or worry about prying eyes and ears.

I get out, open the back to door, and motion Kinney to get out. He does. I slam the door.

I see Kinney bracing himself. I guess he's expecting a shake down, and well… he should.

Barney walks up behind him, we've got him surrounded.

Kinney now looks real tensed and tight, ready for something, but he's not sure what's coming. He glares at me.

_Damn, I'll give him this - the guy's got balls. He's not one of those limp wrist f-… , I mean 'guys.' He's just a guy-guy, from a tough, blue collar neighborhood... _

I place my hands on my hips and ask him in an evened-toned, quiet voice, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He doesn't respond; he looks suspiciously back at me. His hair has slipped into his eyes; he doesn't bother to move it. He's using it as a shield so I can't see his eyes. But, I know he's watching my every move. He's watching Barney, too. He keeps twisting around, trying to see where he's standing.

After a short pause, I continue, "Ethan Gold tried to file a restraining order against you, today. He said you chased him last night - with intend to do _**bodily harm**_! What the fuck, Kinney?"

Kinney curls his lips into his mouth, crosses his arms, and looks down at his expensive shoes.

Barney slowly walks over to me, now Kinney doesn't have to twist to see him. We're not going to fuck with his head anymore. We've got to get through to this guy.

Barney jumps in with his two-cents worth, "On top of that, some old lady calls 911, yelling for the police and fire department! She says some maniac is trashing her alley. But, she's like… "

Barney starts flapping his hands in the air and tries to sound like an old lady talking, "…she's like, 'Oh please come help the handsome young man before he hurts himself!'"

I laugh at Barney's imitation. Barney joins me laughing. Kinney looks rightfully embarrassed.

Barney's not finished kicking Kinney's can. "Our people get there - the alley is a disaster. Public and private property is destroyed. But, that old lady really had a boner for you, pretty boy! _Oh yeah_! She ain't going to press charges – she's too worried about your welfare. Oh, and her description of you is so damn detailed, even the detail of your 'lovely auburn hair'!

But here's the best part, nimrod - the building's got a surveillance camera there in the alley! _You jackass!_ You didn't fucking even think to check before you started going ape-shit! Jesus Christ!"

I chuckle at Barney's smartass remarks. He is really funny at times.

I jump back in and bring home our point. "If Gold finds out about all of this shit, he could use it for his restraining order. Right now, you're lucky 'coz he's got no record of you harassing him or real witnesses that heard or saw you threaten him… KINNEY, are you fucking listening to me?"

Kinney straightens his posture and I can see him clenching and unclenching his jaw. He's making an effort to curb his tongue. But his tongue wins out.

"He did something to Sunsh… Justin. He's why Justin is missing. I KNOW IT!"

"Fine, you're entitled to your opinion! He is a suspect – _**and I'm looking at another one - right here in front of me!**_ Listen, just leave the little chin rat alone."

_Damn._ Ever since I heard Kinney use that phrase, 'chin rat,' to describe Ethan Gold, it's been stuck in my brain. It's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Gold. I see a smile creep across Kinney's face; it seems he liked the fact that I used that phrase.

He looks at me for a long moment, then takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Okay, fine… I… fine…"

I slowly walk over to him, stop in front him, and then surprise myself by patting him on his upper arm. He's an asshole… but… he's an 'Okay Joe' as they used to say in my day.

_And he's a suspect… I'm really walking a thin line here, and can't believe I'm doing it… Debbie has a way with me._

I take a few steps back and clear my throat. "Stay away, stay cool. Get a hobby, take up knitting, I don't give a fuck what you do to keep you busy – but stay away from Gold. You aren't helping us, you're confusing the case. You're drawing attention to yourself, and all the wrong kind of attention! Stay back and let us do our job or I'll arrest you for obstructing an investigation! _Capiche_?"

He nods his head.

I hold my index finger up in front of his face, "This is your one and only warning. And I'm only doing this 'coz of Debbie… I could get in a lot of trouble for doing this. By the way, you won't ever talk about this little coffee break we're having here, and if you do, you better remember it was just you and me, not Barney? Got it?"

Barney immediately starts to argue with me, but I give him a look that says, 'Not in front of the suspect, dear.' He shuts up.

I look back at the Kinney for my answer. He looks like he's swirling around in a tornado of emotions, but he looks compliant. He responds composed and quietly, "Okay, got it. No worries."

_Enough of this warm and fuzzy shit._

I point to the car and gruffly tell him to "… get the fuck in the car. We'll drop you back at the diner. Unlike you - who has enough time to stalk people and lounge around in a diner - some of us work for a living! Let's go Barney."

* * *

><p><strong>Later that day, a call comes into the precinct. A man, who was walking his dog by the river, made a disturbing discovery.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Hi There!: Keep in mind as you read this chapter - it ain't over til it's over...

Thanks for reading and please drop me a comment, I would love to hear from you

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 4:<strong>

_**Brian Kinney's POV**_

I'm lying on top of Justin, we are chest to chest; he has his arms and legs are wrapped around me, holding me like a vice. My boy gets so needy when we fuck, he has to hold and be held.

_But, I like it, though he'll never know.._

He moans softly, which makes me smile. He is thoroughly immersed in his physical pleasure.

Little does he know that I'm purposely torturing him with my slow pace. I elongate the time I take to withdraw from him, and before I push back into him, I deliberately hesitate. He starts to whimper and wiggle, signaling me to pick up my speed. But, I don't.

This torturously slow pace is my revenge for all the bullshit he's put me through. I increase his punishment by exploring his perfect, little shell ear. I know that tantalizing this little erogenous hub will send shock and awe throughout his lithe body.

While I nibble on the lobe and then breathe hot air into the tunnel, he emits quiet gasps and cooing sounds.

_Oh, yeah, you love this don't you, you little twat_? _You've been such a bad, little boy… ahhh, ohhh, but punishment is now officially over._

I can't hold back on my own needs any more. I increase the tempo of my pumping. He counters the motion and pushes back, meeting my every thrust. Each time he does this, I feel like I slip a little deeper inside of him.

He begins to grind his cock into my stomach. It's as hard as a rock, and it's actually uncomfortable, but I won't have to endure the discomfort much longer.

I angle my hips so that I can make a direct hit on his sweet spot, his prostate. He bucks in response. He starts to tremble. I hit it again and then lift my head just enough so that I can enjoy the expression on his face. His face is radiant; it's glowing with an ethereal light. That's the light that attracted me to him. My dark wants - needs – his light.

I pump several more times, brushing past his prostate. He twists his body so that my head of my cock will hit that sweet spot. I oblige him, which sends him into a tailspin. He throws his head back and loudly groans. He's almost there, just moments away.

_Yeah, bab- … boy… Sonny boy… that's it… I love y-… I love fucking you so much…_

He opens his eyes and looks at me. His eyes are the color of dark, rare sapphires. Then he smiles - and at that exact moment, our mutual orgasms hit us like a mighty wave – they crash in, crest, and then burst into a liquid spray. I yell out his name.

"_**JUSTIN!**_"

"_What? What was that?"_

I'm disoriented from my orgasm, but try to focus on my surroundings. I know I heard a loud noise, like a bang or a yell. I struggle to acclimatize my eyes to the dimmed lighting of the loft. _What was that noise?_

_Why is it so dark in here? _

_Fuck._

Unfortunately, reality drops in like a one ton weight. Justin is not here and I'm alone in my bed. It was all a dream.

I'm still breathing hard from my wet dream. I'm hot and sweating. My perspiration is rapidly cooling, chilling me. Just a few seconds earlier, I was in a bright Heaven, now I've fallen back into a dark Hell.

My cum is splattered all over my stomach and chest. I smear my hand through it and then examine the goo. I catch myself – _I can't believe me_ - I'm looking at this crap, hoping to find some indication that it contains his cum. I bitterly chuckle to myself; I realize that I have no way to differentiate the characteristics of our jizz.

I grab my cigarettes and lighter from the bedside table on my side of the bed. _My side of the bed… yes, there still is a 'my side' and a 'his side' of the bed._

I light up the coffin nail and enjoy the burn in my throat and lungs. I can feel the nicotine coursing through my veins; it gives me a slight high.

I wryly smile to myself.

_I'm so fucking pathetic._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Detective Carl Horvath's POV<strong>_

Forensics calls me, they got a match.

A garbage bag was found up at the northern part of the river. A dog wandered away from its master and found a plastic garbage bag buried under debris that washed up on the river bank. The dog tore into bag, pulled out an item, and proudly brought its prize back to its master.

It was a bloody, bath towel. One of five bloody, bath towels found in the bag.

Forensics was told to make this case their top priority, which they did. Within twenty-eight hours, they confirmed that the DNA from the blood on the towels matches Justin Taylor's DNA. They were able to pull Taylor's DNA from various sources, including blood samples from his bashing. Forensics stated that it was a perfect match with only a slight chance - one in sixteen million - that the blood could belong to anyone else.

The amount of blood found on the towels was substantial. However, the forensics report that I'm now reading, states that they "cannot assuredly state that the amount of blood content found on the towels denote a fatal situation." But, it was a lot of blood.

Forensics made another discovery while examining the bloody towels. This discovery could potentially identify our 'perp' - perpetrator.

During their testing the evidence for Taylor's DNA, the forensics lab found a second person's DNA. It seems someone first used the towels as they were meant to be used - to dry off after a shower or bath. _They should have washed them before they used them to sop up Justin's blood. Dumb assholes._

Barney and I have been doing this job for a long time, and we learned that it is advantageous to take certain steps early in a missing person's investigation.

We ask all of our suspects to come into the precinct for their interview or for a follow up interview, and when they do, Barney and I turn into fucking-Martha-Stewart-like hosts. We give the suspect something to drink like coffee, a canned drink, or a bottle of water. We don't allow them to bring their own food or drink into the interrogation, because we tell them it's for security reasons.

Even if they decline a drink, we always place a bottle of water in front of them – just as a courtesy. When you are sitting there, answering questions for awhile, you're going to get thirsty and you're going to want that drink. When the meeting is over, like a good host, we tell them to not bother with discarding the used drink containers; we'll take care of it. They're in such a hurry to leave after the interview, that they don't really give a damn about leaving a mess. They just want to get the hell out Dodge.

It works every time. _We've had a home run every time._

The Pennsylvania courts have ruled that articles discarded by suspects may be retrieved and used without the suspect's consent. The DNA from the saliva left on the containers can be used to match suspects to evidence. This little step saves us a lot of time, because then we don't have to go through the long process of obtaining a court order when suspects won't volunteer samples of their DNA.

With all the evidence that we have and will have, we should be able to determine our perp. We have three suspects, we're sure that one of them attacked Justin.

It's now eight days after Justin Taylor's disappearance, and we are optimistic that we will be closing the case soon. However, we're not sure if it will be a happy ending.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Detective Carl Horvath's POV<strong>_

Forensics set records processing the second DNA match, and we have our results in less than a day. Again, they got a match – one of our suspect's DNA matches the second set of DNA on the towels.

Barney's holding the file containing Forensics' report. He gamely jokes, "Drum roll please, and the Academy Award goes to… " He silently reads it and shakes his head, "What a fucking waste."

He hands me the folder, I read down the page until I see the name of our perp.

_No surprise…_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brian Kinney's POV<strong>_

It's dark in the loft and the only source of light is coming from the glow of the plasma screen. I'm ignoring the shouts and bangs on the door. I can distinguish the sound of Horvath's voice in the apparent crowd that is now at my door.

I'm sitting on the floor in front of the couch, my knees are drawn up to my chest, and I'm resting my head on my knees. _Justin sits like this when he is watching horror movies. _

The news is on. The volume is turned down, but I turn it up to block out the sounds coming from the door. I changed the lock several days ago; I got tired of the family barging in at will.

_It's going to rain tonight… figures…_

I hear the loft's metal door scrape against its steel track; it's being opened.

_Someone found a key… _

I hear a lot of heavy-shoed feet marching into the loft.

Someone calls my name, "Brian Kinney? Brian Kinney!"

Suddenly, a forest of legs surrounds me. I look through them and focus on the television.

I hear Horvath say, "Let's get him up."

Hands grab me with surprising gentleness and lift me onto the couch. Horvath leans into my face and asks, "Did you take anything, Brian? Any pills, smoke, smack, anything?"

I shake my head 'no.'

I hear some guy say, "He's been drinking, you can smell it on him."

A woman in uniform and wearing rubber gloves comes out of my bathroom. Apparently, she just searched through it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her hold something up to Horvath, "I don't see any empty medicine bottles anywhere, but I did find these meds bottles. The meds are for seizures and anxiety. They were prescribed to Justin Taylor. They are both three quarters full; he could have mixed them."

I cough to clear my throat so I can speak. "I said I didn't take anything. _**Why are you here?**_ I've had a drink… well, okay – more than one… maybe a bottle… They don't make Beam like they used to… too weak or… " I don't finish my sentence because I really don't know what I was going to say.

Someone grabs my left arm and I try to jerk it free. A gaggle of strong hands materialize out of nowhere, grab and hold me down. A pressure cuff is wrapped around my upper arm. My head is jerked up and I'm blinded by a light beam. It's the attack of the EMTs.

Voices swirl around my head, reporting their findings.

"His eyes are slightly dilated."

"His pressure is a little low. He's highly intoxicated – probably borderline alcohol poisoning."

"Do you want to prep for transport?"

I hear Horvath say "no." He then tells everyone to clear out and give us some space. He sits on the coffee table, my very expensive, brand new Mies Van Der Rohe coffee table. He looks very comfortable sitting on it… he stares at me.

I wait for him to talk and when he doesn't, I get to the point, "What did you find?"

Horvath purses his lips and then mumbles, "You know I can't tell you."

I scoff out a laugh and glare back at him. "_**Did you find him**_?"

"No."

I glance at the television screen; a report has come on about Justin. I turn it up and listen. The reporter is standing in front of an old apartment building, calmly talking. _Why not, this doesn't matter to her, it's just some story she can sensationalize for her own professional gain. It's not her part-… someone she knows that is missing…_

"Ethan Gold, an area street musician and student at PIFA, is in police custody today after his arrest in regards to the disappearance of his male lover, a Mr. Justin Taylor. A search warrant was conducted on Gold's apartment yesterday and Gold was immediately arrested on the premises. We don't have specifics at this time on what was found in Ethan Gold's apartment, but we do know that evidence is being removed from the apartment. We've seen furniture, boxes, and floor boards. Witnesses reported seeing large stains on the floor boards… Do we have film on that… We _do_ have film on that and we'll show that to you it in a moment.

Justin Taylor, also a student at PIFA, went missing nine days ago, after attending a party to promote a comic book that he co-created. The theme of the comic book addressed the issue of 'gay bashing'. It just so happens, Mr. Taylor was actually the _victim_ of a bashing -"

Images flicker through my mind: the garage… blood pooling on the cement ground, a white scarf with blood splotches…

I resent that they are going to show articles containing his blood in the news broadcast. _Don't they know; why don't they fucking think about this shit? Think about the fact that it's someone's blood… someone loved… my partner… mine… _

_**WHERE ARE YOU**?_

I mute the sound of the television and throw the remote control to the side.

I look at Horvath, "What now? What are you doing now to find him?"

I can see sweat break out on Horvath's upper lip. He wipes it away. He clears his throat and then audibly swallows. He hesitates a little longer, and when he speaks, I can hear a slight quiver in his voice. "We're, ah, conducting a recovery search now… not a rescue. But, we aren't giving up -"

A cold fist of shock hits me in the center of my chest – it knocks the breath out of me. I stop hearing anything else that he's saying.

_I can't breathe. I need air._

I struggle to my feet and stumble to the room's large set of windows.

_No, you're wrong. You're all fucking wrong!_

I throw open the drapes and then desperately search for the latch to open the windows.

_No! FUCK YOU! NO – HE'S NOT GONE!_

I pound on the window sills_. _

_I need air. There's not enough light._

_DAMMIT! I forgot, these shitty things don't open. MOTHERFUCKER – OPEN THE FUCK UP!_

I punch my left fist through the glass window.

I hear shouting.

The hands are back, grabbing me, pulling me back into the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Pre-dawn, the next day:<strong>

_**Brian Kinney's POV**_

I've been driving around all night. I can't sleep. I barely notice that my hand is throbbing with pain.

Twelve hours earlier, I impulsively decided to remodel a window in my loft. Detective Horvath and his friends kindly rushed me to the hospital. I'm now sporting stitches and a tastefully understated, but impressive cast on my left arm. It extends from my hand to my elbow. Apparently, I broke a knuckle, a finger bone, or two, and shaved off a tendon that had to be sewn back on. I have pills to take and a schedule to follow for my booboo's care, but I'm not doing either right now.

I drank so much booze in the last two days that I think I drank myself sober. But, thankfully, I'm still numb. I can't feel at all. No emotions, no tears, no fears, just some thoughts now and then. If the thoughts provoke any emotions, I quickly squelch them. Then I go back to numb - peaceful numbness.

_They haven't found him yet… but they will… they have to, because I'm not ready… I 'm not finished with him… I will never… be finished with him. _

_You're still alive, aren't you Sonny Boy? Don't make a liar out of me._

_Where are… Too much for right now, push it down, change the channel, Kinney._

I realize that I am parked outside of Mother Taylor's house. I don't even know how I got here. The lights are on inside. I glance at the clock in the jeep. It's five a.m. The night's darkness is fading. The sun will be coming up soon.

I did mean to stop by today and briefly see Jennifer, but not this early. I rest my head back on my seat's headrest. I'll just wait out here until the sun comes up. My eyes are dry and itchy, so I close them, giving them a rest.

I'm startled awake by a tapping sound. _Damn, I fell asleep._

Jennifer is standing at my window. I quickly roll it down.

Her eyes are swollen; her face is puffy and flushed. From the circles under her eyes, I can tell that she hasn't slept, either.

She smiles slightly, and leans against the door. "Do you want to come in?"

I roll my lips into my mouth to stifle any reply. I don't know the correct response; the main goal is to be stay in control of me. I don't think that going will be a good idea; it might jeopardize my self-control or take away this numbness. She doesn't need the burden of my weaknesses. _I'm rambling… what the fuck am I thinking? _

While I continue this internal debate, Jennifer makes a decision.

She walks around the jeep, opens the passenger side door and climbs in. She pauses for a moment, waiting for my reaction. Since I don't react at all, she does. She gently takes hold of my right hand, but then she stops dead still when she sees the cast on my left arm. Before she can speak, I say, "Don't ask."

I can tell she's concerned, maybe even worried, but she's a smart woman and lets the matter drop. She continues to hold my hand while she settles back into her seat.

We sit there together for awhile; I don't know how long. Both of us just stare out the jeep's window shield. We're pros at this, sitting together quietly… worrying about Justin.

But I'm not worrying about him; I can't risk it while she's here. I push hard to concentrate on something else, I chose my new account. _Borges Cigars. Good cigar, bad packaging -_

I glance at Jennifer and notice that her shoulders are shaking; I focus in on her and can hear quiet, suppressed sobs. She covers her face with her hands in an unsuccessful attempt to hide her tears.

_Dammit, I'm not… I don't… what the fuck. _I hesitantly place my arm around her shoulders and since she doesn't resist, I change my hold into an embrace.

After a few minutes, she calms down. Though her voice is muffled by her hands, I can still hear her. "I'm not giving up… They haven't found him because maybe… just maybe… he's still out there. Oh, God, please, please… " Her sorrow overtakes her and she starts to cry again.

I pull her into my chest and whisper back, "It's not over… It's not over, until it's over… and it's not over."

I take in slow, deep breaths to stay calm. It's a struggle at the moment, her crying is affecting me. I clear my mind of all thoughts. If I let my mind wander, it will inevitably find something troubling to think about, and then the emotions come and latch on - _like 'kweazy wesbians' fighting over Birkenstocks at a shoe sale._ The image of 'wesbians' fighting for Birkenstocks does the trick. It's funny enough to push aside all other needless emotions.

We just sit, wordlessly, until her tears run out.

She looks like she's preparing to leave. I unexpectedly and completely uncharacteristically lift her hand to my lips and press a brief, gentle kiss on its top.

_You are the mother of my partner… Ah damn… oh, well, I'll just let this little moment slip by, just slip away into oblivion… _

The hand that I'm holding squeezes mine and then pulls away.

_Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. _I retrieve an envelope from my inside jacket pocket. "I actually… I wanted to drop this off. I know things are overwhelming right now and I don't want you to have to worry finances. Just concentrate on taking care of Molly and yourself." I hand her the envelope. It contains a check in it that's made out to her. The amount should cover their expenses for a couple of months.

She doesn't take the envelope; instead she smiles knowingly, but appreciatively. "We'll be fine. Thanks, but 'no thank you.'"

I politely but insincerely smile back at her. _That's where Justin gets it from – that 'can-do-it-on-my-own,' proud bullshit stubbornness._

She reaches over and strokes my cheek. "I'm here for you. That's open ended, with no expiration date."

Then, she gently pats my forearm and says, "Go home. Get some sleep and then call me. You don't even have to talk, just call me, so I know that you're alright. Promise me, Brian."

I nod 'yes'. As she starts to leave the car, I firmly say, "You forgot something," and I hand her the envelope.

She starts to protest, but I stop her with, "Just in case. Cash it, have it ready, you never know. If you don't need it, then return it later, but you will take it… because Justin would want you to have it."

I give her a warning look, letting her know that I won't take another 'no' for an answer.

She hesitantly takes it and gives me a shy smile that is as charming as her son's. "Brian, I – "

I brusquely interrupt her, "I'll wait until you get into the house, then I'll drive away." I look away; I've had enough bonding time with the mother-in-law.

When I look back at her, she's smiling. Jennifer's smile looks so much like Justin's smile that my heart takes an extra beat.

I patiently wait for her to make her way to her house, and I sigh in relief when she finally closes the front door.

I drive to the loft, clean up and then head to the office.

_Borges Cigars…They need more sex appeal. Let's see: okay, a big, fat cock is smoking a cigar… Maybe a bit much, but I'm going in the right direction._

_It's not over yet, is it Justin? _

_**Where the fuck are you?**_


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5:**

_**Detective Carl Horvath's POV**_

_Damn, I hate this crap._

We've been mucking around in the mud, here on the river bank, for the last two days. We're looking for Justin Taylor's remains but we've found nothing. We are moving further south today, and we're up to our ass in mud from all the rain that we've had in the last couple of days.

It's been three days since we arrested the chin rat, I mean, Ethan Gold. He quickly lawyer-ed up and refuses to talk or cooperate in any way.

I hear he's been a pain in the ass at county jail, demanding his violin, vegan food, and all kinds of shit. Good luck to them, it looks like he's going to be their problem for some time. I know he won't confess to anything and his case will have to go to trial with limited evidence. That's why we need to find Taylor's body; it will help put him away.

Secretly, I guess I'm holding on to some hope, for Debbie and all the rest of his family. I don't know exactly what is possible at this point. Unfortunately, I know way too well how these things end up.

_He seemed like a nice kid. From what everyone has to say about him, it seems he was something special. He was lucky to have some nice people in his life that loved him. _

_It's a fucking shame. It always is._

_I need a break. _

I radio to Barney as I start to climb the slope of the river bank and let him know that I'm going up to get some coffee from the car. I tell him to come up from where he's searching and join me.

"Detective Horvath! I found something!"

_Shit… oh well._

I make my way down the river bank and over to the officer that called me. He's kneeling down of the ground, gently digging into the ground with his pen.

"Whatcha got there, son?"

I squat down and look at the ground, where the officer is picking and digging with his pen. It is covered in mud, but it is in excellent shape. It's a totally de-fleshed, human skull partially lodged in the mud.

_It's only been eleven days…his skull wouldn't be this clean._

I mutter to myself, "Who the _**hell**_ is that?"

I peripherally see that Barney is now standing at my side. I hear him curse.

I pick up my radio and call for the coroner's team.

_It's going to be a very long day._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brian Kinney's POV<strong>_

Gus rubs his little, chubby fists into his eyes. I wipe his nose and carefully re-arrange him so that he's lying on my chest, belly down. I start to the rock the swing settee, while softly patting him on his back. "It's okay Sonny Boy; it's going to be okay." Gus faintly verbalizes a response, but it's muffled by my shirt. He's still sniffing and squirming but I can feel that he's settling down. I continue to sooth with pats, rubs, and gibberish talk.

I'm relieved to see that no one has followed us out of the house. I can still hear the family, though. Their voices echo out from the muncher's house, they have turned their anger onto each other. They sound like jackals fighting over a carcass.

Lindsay called me and lied, saying that Gus was sick, blah, blah, blah; I had to come right away, blah, blah, blah. It was all a rouse. She, or more correctly, the family used my son to pry me out of my self-imposed isolation. I purposely have avoided them for over a week and I haven't answered the door, phone, or responded to messages. I've even been working out of the loft and only going in for meetings.

_Because I wanted to be alone… what part of the word 'alone' don't you understand? Greta Garbo – alone!_

So, they engineered this little get together. But it somewhat backfired on them; as soon as I arrived and figured out the situation, I grabbed a crying Gus and went into the backyard to calm us both down. Consequently, I'm still not talking to them and they're now fighting. I smile to myself, enjoying the irony.

_But I'm here now and I've missed my Sonny Boy. So, this is good, but only this part._

Within ten minutes, his eyes are closed in sleep. I take the risk of waking him and slowly adjust him so that I can cradle him in my arms. This is not an easy task with my cast.

_Good, no wakey-wakey… I want a cigarette._

I don't and won't smoke around Gus, so I distract myself by looking at my sleeping son. It would be more appropriate to say, I admire him. _He changes so fast. I can't believe how much he looks like me when I was his age – very lucky boy._

As I look at him, I realize that I rarely hold him like this; normally it is Justin who does this. I remember the last time I held Justin. It was the night before the Rage party.

_I like this, holding my Sonny Boy like this. Justin loved to hold him. I loved watching him hold Gus._

Though it's warm outside, it's too cool in the shade for me. I cover Gus' face with his blanket and flip back the awning of the swing settee. I have to feel the warmth of the Sun, but it barely substitutes for the center of my personal universe - my brilliant, bright and beautiful Justin; and my perfect Gus.

I whisper to my sleeping son, "You and Justin are the center of my universe, did you know that?" I smile to myself and answer the question for him. "I didn't either."

_Its official, I now have a uterus._

I flip on my sunglasses and settle back to enjoy the light, the warmth, and holding Gus. I close my eyes and gently rock the swing. A cloud passes in front of the sun and doesn't seem to move. I squint open my eyes and realize that someone is standing in front of me.

Before I can make out who it is, the body quickly plops down beside me. It's Michael. He's got a silly smile on his face. He looks like he's twelve.

He bumps my shoulder and quietly says "Hey."

I flash him a smirk for a response.

"Is he asleep?"

I gently pull back the blanket covering Gus' face. He's sleeping soundly. I glance at Michael and quickly nod my head. I cover Gus' face again with the blanket.

"How are you doing?"

I curl my lips under and bite down on them for a few seconds so I won't shout obscenities at him. Then, with tongue firmly planted in cheek, I sarcastically whisper back to him, "Fucking great! How about you, Michael?"

"Hey Brian, come on, I just-"

"Fine, fine." I quickly stand up, though making sure I don't wake the kid. "Listen, I'm just not…I'm going to leave now."

Michael jumps up and grabs my shoulder while speaking in a full voice. "We're here for you. We're doing this for you! We want to be here for you!"

I lean into his face and quietly growl, "Keep your voice down! I don't fucking need you…this..." I fade off my attack as I see pain cross over Michael's face. Luckily, Gus is sleeping through our happy reunion.

"Listen Michael… I didn't mean that, I -"

"Bri, just stay for a little bit. Please?"

I didn't realize that Deb and Lindsay had walked up to us.

Lindsay reaches over and takes Gus from me. I reluctantly release him. "You got him to asleep, he always settles down for you. I'm going to put him to bed, so you can talk." She avoids making eye contact with me. If she had looked at me, she would have seen how pleased I was with her and my little my surprise party. I watch her walk away with my son.

I hear Deb quietly ask Michael, "Honey, go get me a glass of wine? And check on the ziti in the oven. Okay, baby?"

Of course, Michael pushes back, "But Maw, Bri-"

"Now Michael." Debbie gently counters.

Michael is her son and doesn't understand the meaning of subtly or subtext; instead, he totally misses her point and whines in protest. "_**Maaawww**_, Brian needs me right now! We were talking -"

Deb verbally slaps him down, "I said 'Now Michael!'"

_Poor Mikey, why do you even try? Haven't you learned, yet? _I actually laugh out loud at the absurdity of their interplay. Unfortunately, Michael takes my laugh as a slight and walks away, sulking in defeat.

Deb points to the settee that I was on and says, "Sit."

I obey her. _Oh, what the hell… here we go._ '_I'm a bad son – I don't write, I don't call,' yada, yada, yada._

She seems to produce a plate of food from thin air and places it into my hands. I snort in disbelief and push it back to her.

We sit there for awhile, in total silence. _It must be killing her._ I adjust my sunglasses and settle back and try to absorb the warmth of the Sun. I clear my mind of all thoughts and mentally concentrate on a bright, blond light. I peek at her whenever she moves in jerky motions. She's waving and warding off intruders and her comic pantomimes are amusing.

"Have you heard from Jen?"

I knew she couldn't stay quiet for too long. _Damn._

_Yep, I talk to her every day. I honestly don't know who is checking on whom. _"We're… in contact."

Deb nods her head and starts to pick at the food on the plate, nibbling on whatever she finds appealing. In between chews, she says, "He loved you with everything he was. Don't ever doubt it."

I silently gasp at the bluntness of her words. But, I don't respond, I can't. I'm too afraid of what will come out if I open my mouth.

_I'm not ready for this talk. This is not what I expected._

Deb seems to be oblivious to my plight or that she's handling the moment with a Godzilla-like grace. She just keeps on tromping, "He was a beautiful, beautiful young man - inside and out."

She continues to speak with a matter-of-fact tone of voice, but her rapidly increasing eating speed reveals her intensity of her true feelings. She has no idea that she is stripping away my sanity.

"But, why him? Why did _all_ of this happen to him? These men, these _**monsters**_… it's like they took that saying 'if you love him set him free… ' and added, 'and if he doesn't come back, then hunt him down and kill him…' And Ethan succeeded."

I feel like she just suckered punched my gut. I roll into my stomach and Deb finally realizes that she's gone too far. She throws down her plate and grabs me in a hard embrace. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't…I didn't fucking think. My damn, damn big mouth!"

I gently pull away from her and take some deep breaths. I can't stand it any longer; I have to confess my crime. Without looking at her, I whisper, "It's my fault, Debbie. I did this. I fucking threw him off the Kinney cliff." I humorlessly chuckle at my own stupidity. "I threw him right into the arms of that homicidal psycho. He's gone… missing… because of me."

Deb caresses my face and just shakes her head 'no.'

I bitterly laugh, "Hind sight sucks, Deb. I thought I handled it… I thought I had warned him off_." I thought Ian was a settled issue after the diner – I was so... oh, so wrong._

"What, honey?"

"Ethan… I should have looked into his background… If I had, Justin might be here now… I didn't do it right… I could have kept him safe, but I didn't. I thought… he… Justin would leave and think about things, then… I never thought that Ethan would…"

I massage my temples and try to relieve the pressure that is building there. "… I don't know what I thought. I don't know what I'm saying or thinking anymore. It's all just so fucked up."

"It's okay, honey. I know how you feel. I think I know what's best for everyone. I just want to keep everyone of you safe and I think sometimes… I wish I could put you somewhere safe, where no one can hurt any of you. I wonder if that's even possible in this fucking world we live in? Is there anywhere safe anymore?"

I ignore Deb's questions, they are just too real.

_I need to go. _

"Deb, I gotta go…" I stand up and quickly stretch out the kinks in my joints.

"Hey, you were the best thing that ever happened to him. Don't you forget that! You took him in, fed him, took care of him, and he was happy with you and he wanted to be with you… oh, shit - "

I laugh out loud, cutting her off. It's a wild, ugly laugh. "Deb, what the _fuck_ are you saying? Because it you are trying to make me feel better, then it sure as hell is _**not**_ working."

"I don't know what I'm saying! I just want to keep you safe…I'm so afraid…_**I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore, honey!**_ Look at your arm! And, I know what you tried to do on your birthday, that time… I know about the scarfing thing you did on your thirtieth birthday!"

_Fuck! Michael, you just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?_

Tears have started to flow down her face, her hands are gripped tight together in her lap, she looks like she's praying. "Please honey… don't do anything to hurt yourself anymore, or do anything that will take you away from me. I can't lose you, too."

_Oh shit! That's why Horvath came storm-trooping into my loft. You thought I would – shit, Deb!_

I roll my lips into my mouth and count to five to calm myself, I realize that getting mad at her is not going to help anything, but I want to be certain. "Did you send Horvath over to my place the other day? That's why he came barging in?"

Her non-response is her response.

I nod to myself. _It's okay. I know she meant well._ I gently tell her, "It's okay, Mom. I've got to go."

She amazes me by the speed in which she stands up and grabs me in a tight, bear hold. "On Gus' head, swear to me that you won't hurt yourself. Swear to me!"

I nod my head.

She lovingly smiles at me and whispers, "Say it, asshole!"

I fondly smirk back at her, "I swear…I won't hurt myself."

I leave the garden and head straight to my car. I can't deal with any more 'good intentions' or emotional support crap from the loving family.

_Uterus officially removed._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Detective Carl Horvath's POV<strong>_

"You're not going to believe this! They've found three bodies. But, get this – it's a burial ground for hobos!"

"What?" I'm driving, looking for parking and struggling to balance my cell phone. "What's that you say?"

"Yeah Carl! It's a burial ground on the river ridge and the rain washed all the bones down over the edge and onto the river bank here. The homeless have been using this area to bury their buddies. Man, we thought we had hit the dumping ground for a serial killer!"

"So…is Taylor there?"

"Nope, but we're still digging and searching. We're told that there are a couple of cardboard cities around here, you know, homeless camps. Baransky and his partner found out about the grave site at one of them and now they're on their way to check out another camp."

It's like you and me said, maybe someone from the camps found Taylor's body and rolled it for what they could take off of it. If we could just get a good location lead on his body, then we could get the hell out of this lousy, shit hole. Be glad you're not here; they just pulled up a fresh one. The smell would make you sick to your stomach."

"Put some Vick's under your nose, it will help with the smell. Call me if you find anything. I'm at the bank, I gotta go."

I park my car and go into the bank to do some personal business. On my way out, my cell rings.

"Hey, it's Barney."

"Yep, what's up?"

"We found him. We found Taylor."

"Fuck…wow…well, I guess that's it…It's finally over." I've come to a standstill in the middle of the side walk. People are bumping into me, muttering quiet insults and orders. I feel cold, though it's in the eighties today.

_I was kind of hoping... Fuck._

"Carl… there's something else – a very interesting twist."

"What? _Dammit!_ What the fuck _now_? Did they eat his body or some such shit?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brian Kinney's POV<strong>_

I'm in the conference room, winding up my presentation to Blue Mountain Pet Foods. They are happy, Vance is happy, and I am… amazed at my performance. Not the presentation aspect, but how I'm holding it together and being _**the**_ awesome Brian Kinney!

_Hell, I am 'Brian Fucking Kinney,' right?_

I smile, feeling invigorated by my pride. I've barely slept or ate in the last twelve days and it's beginning to catch up to me. I've been feeling lightheaded and dizzy. But right now, I'm on an adrenaline high and enjoying the ride.

Cynthia had left to get the refreshment cart. She and one of our interns return in perfect timing with the end of my spiel.

She leaves the intern in charge of dispensing the refreshments and slips over to me quickly. She looks very tense. She stands on her tiptoes so that she can whisper in my ear. "Detective Horvath is outside. Do you want to see him now, or-"

It feels like someone poured ice cold water down my back. This icy shock wave overtakes my body and I feel like my knees are about to buckle. I'm afraid of what I'm about to hear. I struggle to appear calm as I excuse myself to all the room. I signal to Vance to finish the meeting and then I slip out the door.

I feel like I'm walking to the gallows. My legs feel heavy and are difficult to move. My heart is racing. I slow down my pace and come to a dead stop outside of my office door.

_Oh God, please… my beautiful boy… I've been hoping… hoping so hard… I was so sure… I'm so – fuck, Justin! I'm so afraid of what he is going to tell me… I can't go in. I can't go in and have him tell me that he found your body._

I take a deep breath and a miraculous spark of courage appears out of nowhere; it gives me just enough strength to push open the door and walk into my office.

It feels like the air is thin in the room, I hear a ringing sound in my ears. My body feels like it's shutting down in anticipation of the shock to come.

Horvath is standing with his back to the door. He's looking at Justin's painting that hangs behind my desk. The sound of my entrance causes him to turn around. His face is tense and stern.

I feel myself start to hyperventilate.

He doesn't wait for any formalities or lame greetings. He just blurts out, "We found him and he's alive."

The next thing I'm cognizant of is Horvath leaning over me, saying my name and smacking my face. I see Cynthia, and she looks scared and is frantically fanning me with a magazine.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading and comments are appreciated!<em>


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter is a bit long, pack a lunch and get a drink. LOL. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

_**Brian Kinney's POV – (Entire Chapter)**_

"We need to get your bangs trimmed."

I ignore the thought that my comment sounds like something Debbie would say. I can't remember when he last had an appointment with my stylist, but it's been awhile. "I'll call Jean-Michel. In the meantime… hmm…" I gently brush away the golden bangs that are intruding on his eyes. I'm careful not to touch the bruise that still mars his brow.

_Two weeks… It's all so surreal… Two weeks ago you walked out of Babylon with that fiddle fucker… How I would love to ram a cello up that greasy rat's ass – sideways. Two weeks… and now you're here._

My eyes survey Justin's beautiful body, trying to determine what kind of procedure was done this morning. I have mentally mapped out every inch and I know the location of every wound. I've researched what procedures will be used on each type of injury. Yesterday, I overhead some smartass orderly say that Justin's body looked like a battlefield. I thank God that my boy couldn't hear him; I want the man fired.

_He may have lost the battle asshole, but he won the war – he's still here… Thank you, God. _For the umpteenth time in two days, I have given silent thanks to my mother's God. I don't talk to him very often, but I'm glad that I've kept him on retainer all of these years.

"You look like you're fourteen. This bed looks like it swallowed you whole." I salaciously leer at him. "But, don't get your hopes up, that's the only thing that's going to swallow you for awhile. Sorry, brat." I automatically wait for some sort of reply, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't acknowledge anything that I've said, because he can't hear me.

Justin is asleep, he's been heavily sedated. He's wired to a jungle of beeping, blinking machines and hanging sacks of fluid. I was told that they had to forcibly sedate him this morning. Between the pain, the battery of tests and treatments, and the brigade of police, my boy couldn't take any more stress and strain; he had a little melt down.

I have yet to see him awake. It's been two days since he was transported by MEDIVAC from the homeless camp to the hospital, and this is only the third time that I've been allowed to visit him. Unfortunately, each and every time that I've come to see him, he's been highly drugged and only semi-conscious. I doubt if he even knew that I have been there. The only family member that has actually talked to him is Jennifer.

"Well Sunshine… again, no big, bright, smile for me, huh? I'm starting to get a complex; are you trying to avoid me?" I run my thumb tenderly over his lips and whisper, "I miss it… and I also want to see your baby blues."

The hospital bed is automated and it moves on its own accord, adjusting the patient's body so that bed sores won't develop. It moves now and slightly tilts to the right; Justin doesn't seem to enjoy the new position, I hear him moan. I lift his torso, then slide in behind him and hold him in such a way that I compensate for the tilt of bed. It seems to alleviate his discomfort and he settles down. I realize that I'm half lying with him on the bed.

_I need to careful here - no molesting the patient. _But, it's tempting. _Fuck, it feels so good to hold him._

I take this opportunity to closely examine his arms; he has quite a collection of wounds. The doctor said they are 'defensive wounds,' meaning he used his arms as shields against his attacker – all of them are courtesy of Ethan.

His arms are heavily bruised; there are angry-looking, stitched lacerations scattered around, and several raw scrapes. He has iodine stains all over him, where they've sterilized a particular site before they performed a procedure. I can't see the wounds on his chest or back, they are heavily bandaged now. But, I have seen them, all of them.

The way I'm holding him reminds me of when only days ago, I cradled Gus in my arms. _You two are trying to bring me to my knees, aren't you?_ I nuzzle his ear and then bury my nose in his hair and inhale deeply. I've craved this, his touch, his smell, him.

_Oh, for god sake, I'm turning into a tit. _I'll never confess any of this to him, ever. I have an image to uphold, and I don't want my balls to shrink from the shame.

_Ah, but look at him._ I snort sarcastically. _My own widdle Sleeping Beauty, who… actually, he's more like Rapunzel… he's got the long, golden hair… which I like, a lot. But his bangs… we've got to get these bangs trimmed before he starts tripping over them.._

I can't hold off any longer. I lower my head and caress his lips with mine. "The moment I saw you under that street light, I knew you were trouble… but you know how much I like trouble… you are… you're it, Justin… I know that now… and I'm going to tell you that, I promise." I kiss him fully, tenderly. I prolong the kiss, luxuriating in the softness and warmth of his lips.

Our moment is interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. I look up in amazement as I see Horvath, another officer, and a nurse, rush into the room. Horvath appears to be in full-on attack mode. He sees me and comes to a full stop. I can see that his 'cop radar' is pinging on a high setting as he assesses the situation in front of him. His face have becomes expressionless.

There's a hint of suspicion in his voice, when he asks me, _**"**_What are you_doing?_ Um… How did you get… um, I thought you were going to wait for me in the visitor's lounge?"

I throw him a scowl, he should know better. Of course I was coming in to see Justin.

The nurse makes an impatient, teeth-sucking sound; she purposely bumps into Horvath, pushing him off to the side, and then she hurries over to Justin. She immediately begins checking all the latex patches that are taped to specific areas on Justin's body. Apparently, some sort of sensor had fallen off of him, setting off an alarm. I tell them that the bed shifted and I was trying to make Justin comfortable. She gives me a look that tells me that she doesn't appreciate my gallantry. She makes me put him down and then she tells me that I have to leave.

Before I tell the nurse how much I appreciate her shitty attitude, Horvath runs interference and herds me out of the room. "Hey, hey, come on now. She's just doing her job. We gotta go, anyway. His primary doctor is ready to give us the report." The hovering officer, one of two who are guarding Justin, returns to his post outside the room.

* * *

><p>Dr. Gupta and Jennifer are waiting for us outside the ICU, the intensive care unit. Jennifer looks pale and is extremely quiet, other than the mumbled, "hello," she doesn't say a single word as the doctor leads us to a private meeting room. Horvath hangs back for a few minutes to talk to the second guard, who is posted at the entrance to the ICU. He quickly rejoins us.<p>

Once we settle into the room, the doctor immediately starts the meeting. The doctor's discovery will be used to prosecute Ethan for attempted murder. It's our first thorough briefing on Justin's condition.

"At this time, though some of the results of our examinations are still pending, we do have definitive information for you detective, which substantiates Mr. Taylor's description of the events. He was undoubtedly attacked and quite severely. It's very apparent that none of wounds were self-inflicted."

Dr. Gupta looked around our small group and settles his gaze on Jennifer. "Ma'am… this is going to be a very graphic report, you may want to – "

She quickly shakes her head 'no,' and quietly says, "No, I'm fine." I could tell that Jennifer has already braced herself for the news to come, but I have my doubts regarding how much she will be able to endure.

Jennifer slightly shifts herself towards me. I smile at her and subtly offer her my good arm to hold. She grabs it like it's a lifeline.

I look at the doctor; the trepidation on his face quietly alarms me. _I may not be ready to hear what he has to say. _The doctor continues to hesitate and fumbles with his papers. _Come on,_ _stop dragging this out, you're making it worse. _I decide to help things along and give him a little verbal nudge.

"Doctor, while I'm still young and well hung, hmmm?" Then I flash him a Cheshire cat smile. It seems to do the trick; his eyes bulge out and he does a double take. He immediately starts to talk.

"Ah, alright then… um… " He clears his throat several time before he continues, "Mrs. Taylor, please stop me if you need water or a break. This will sound very… very… technical. Please know that… it is not meant to be insensitive. I will –"

He sees me glaring at him and he gets back on point. With a final snap of his papers, the doctor's persona changes from considerate to clinical.

"Following the timeline provided by Justin, we believe we have found the two puncture wounds in his back, which were the initial point of attack. Each stab wound was approximately 10 centimeters in depth, each were applied with exact precision-"

Justin had told Horvath that he and Ethan had argued, and severely. Justin wasn't sure of his feelings for Ethan – basically, he told him that he wanted to be with me. He was coming back to me. Ethan slapped Justin, and that's when Justin decided to leave.

Justin had only taken a few steps towards the door, when he felt a hard push on his back, and then another. The second push was followed by a sharp, searing pain. When he turned around to confront Ethan, he was stunned to see that Ethan was holding the paring knife that had been used earlier in the evening to serve cheese. Ethan had blood on his hands. It took Justin several seconds to realize that Ethan had stabbed him in the back – twice.

"Lacerations and contusions on the arms are indicative of defensive wounds. At this time during the attack, all stab and slash wounds were opportunistic; meaning that Justin was actively engaged in defending himself. However, Justin stated that the attack's level of viciousness quickly increased, apparently Mr. Gold and he continued to argue during the fight, and it incensed Mr. Gold.

"Within approximately five minutes, Justin blood loss was substantial enough that he noticed it... around him… on his clothing, the furniture, the floor. He said that this was when he started to weaken… then, he… well… he slipped in his own blood and fell, hitting his head on a bookshelf. The result, of course, was the mild concussion. The concussion and blood loss eventually rendered him unconscious, but not at this time."

Horvath previously provided me with enough details from his conversations with Justin, that I was able to fill the gaps that the doctor left out. Several things hindered Justin's self-defense: he was exhausted after working two shifts at the diner that day, Ethan apparently has greater upper-body strength from playing the fiddle, and Ethan was armed and enraged. Ethan attacked Justin using every available resource, which included the paring knife, his fists, his feet, and random objects in the room that he grabbed and used as weapons.

Luckily for Justin, Providence stepped in. A little known fact that Horvath shared with me - If you repeatedly stab someone, the victim's blood will eventually coat the knife, making it slippery and nearly impossible to hold. The knife eventually slips out of the wielder's hand, cutting the hand as it falls. It's a major clue that detectives look for in their investigations. Poor Ian had a deep gash on his rat paw. Horvath believes that little mishap stopped the physical attack, and it is theorized that it was enough of a shock to clear Ethan's fucked up mind.

" - there were twelve stab wounds total, nine deep slash wounds, bruised kidneys, a partially collapsed lung, and of course, multiple contusions and abrasions. The blade of the knife used was three inches long, which is deadly if used correctly. We can thank our graces that Mr. Gold did not know how to properly kill… um. Mr. Gold did perpetrate enough damage to be life threatening.

We've had to drain several of the hematomas, the one on his forehead in particular, but none of these are a major concern. I've provided thorough details in my report. Regarding Justin's fractured ribs; I theorize that he sustained those injuries when Mr. Gold pushed Justin's body off of the river ridge. Justin fell approximately six feet and then rolled into the river –"

Jennifer has entwined herself around my entire arm, and is unsuccessfully using it to mute the sounds of her crying. I waved for the doctor to stop. She's had enough. Though I want to know - have to know – all the details, I will have to wait. But at this moment, it's more important to take care of Justin's mother.

The doctor has copies of his report and hands me one as I help Jennifer out of the room. Horvath stays behind and continues to talk with the doctor.

* * *

><p>Jennifer and I slowly walk down the hospital hall, neither one of us saying anything. She's gathering her composure and I'm trying to assimilate the doctor's report with all the other information that I've received over the last two days.<p>

However, despite all the evidence of Ethan's guilt, I feel like I am the one to blame. Justin wanted to come back to me. He wanted me – not Ethan, but me… However… it almost cost him his life. I almost cost Justin his life – again. _Fuck me_.

I change mental gears and think about the chin rat. Ethan, who had been swearing that he is innocent and has nothing to do with Justin's disappearance, had an epiphany. Of course, this mystical revelation only happened after Justin was found alive, and after Ethan had increased the caliber of his lawyers.

Ethan now remembers that they had a bad argument. He said he was in shock and must have blanked it out, but he remembers now. But the best part – the butt plug says that he was the true victim, not Justin. Yep, Ian the butt plug says Justin wouldn't leave his apartment when asked and then Justin viciously attacked him. Ethan was forced to defend himself to his best ability.

_Interesting – so someone tell me why he didn't call the cops? Why did he dump Justin's supposedly dead body into the river and try to cover up all evidence of the attack? Please – someone explain this to me! _

_Enough! Enough thinking about that piece of shit!_

… _I wonder if they will find that homeless guy… Horvath says they don't need him, but it would help. I want to talk to Doc Joe, too. I want to shake his hand… I sound like my dad. Jack would have said that, – 'I want to shake that man's hand!' Maybe I'll just give them some money._

The man who pulled Justin out of the river is currently missing. Apparently, this is typical behavior for this population, the homeless; they come and go at will. This unknown man was taking a piss in the brushes, saw Ethan dragging Justin's body to the river ridge and then saw Ethan push Justin off the ledge. The guy waited for Ethan to leave and then he fished Justin out of the river.

But the person that really saved Justin's life is a man known as 'Doc Joe'. Justin's guardian angel was working overtime that day – Doc Joe is a real honest-to-god doctor that lives with the homeless. He is one of them. He's a former Army doctor, decorated, respected, but he had a mental breakdown and was honorably discharged. He dropped out of society and now lives in one of the cardboard cities. He uses his military pension to pay for medicines and medical supplies to administer to his "brothers," as he told Horvath. He sounds like quite a character.

When Doc Joe was question on why he didn't contact authorities, he responded with some logical, albeit debatable reasons. First of all, the police haven't been too kind to these people. In fact, Police Chief Stockwell has vowed to rid the streets of all vagrants. Secondly, and more importantly, the main reason that Doc Joe was waiting was due to a rumor that was on the streets. Supposedly, a cop had killed a young hustler and it was being covered up.

Doc Joe didn't have any facts on how, when, and why Justin was attacked and he didn't want to take any risks. So, he was waiting for things to die down. However, he had already started looking for a safe house and was trying to find out more about Justin's background. Horvath believes Doc Joe and has evidence to confirm his story.

My mind swings back to the fiddle fucker. Jennifer told me something that Justin had shared with her and Horvath. But, I… I've seen and done a lot of questionable things in my time, but even I couldn't imagine this…

After Ethan stopped his attack on Justin, he sat on the couch and cried. Justin told Horvath that he was still conscious at this time and he pleaded to Ethan for help. But the motherfucker ignored him. Instead, Ethan got up, washed his hands and then started to play his fucking violin - like fucking Nero playing the fiddle while Rome burned. I think he was waiting for Justin to die.

_Ethan is one cold son-of-a-bitch – he's a freak show, a monster. He's worse than Chris Hobbs. _

Jennifer and I walk past the ICU visitor's lounge and a maelstrom confronts us. Everyone is there, the whole family, except for my son and Justin's best friend, Daphne Chanders. I had no idea that any of them were coming to visit today. The worst part is that they are all in various stages of fury, all talking and shouting at the same time, telling us that they aren't being allowed to see Justin; that the police officer guarding the ICU entrance was 'a fucking asshole,' that the hospital coffee tastes like shit… I started to instantly zone them all out.

In the midst of all the chaos, a hospital administrative person comes briskly down the hall, searching for me. "Mr. Kinney? Oh, Mr. Kinney! I'm _so_ sorry things took so long. Here's your health insurance card and the written verification of receipt that you requested.

The letter now clearly states that we have in our possession, a certified copy of the documents that grant you power of attorney for Mr. Taylor. Well then, oh - we've verified that Mr. Taylor is on your policy and everything is in order. We've now got all the information we need. We are _so_ sorry for all the misunderstandings. We have five 'Mr. Taylors' in the hospital at this time, and well – I'm sure you can imagine the confusion that this has created! Thank you _so_ much for your patience."

I just nod to her, take the card, and shove it in my pocket, while ignoring all the eyes that are on me. The woman smiles brightly - which triggers a memory of Justin: we're in the jeep and he turned to me and gave me one of his beautiful, radiant smiles. While I'm distracted by my 'Justin moment,' the woman wisely makes a quick escape.

Justin and I signed power-of-attorney papers when he moved into the loft, right after he was bashed. We never had them changed.

_I hear them whispering. I seriously want to leave now. _

I can tell that I'm minutes away from an interrogation of my private life, which I won't tolerate well. I look at Jennifer, she's more than ready to leave; she's barely able to maintain her shaky smile.

I see that Horvath has joined our little merry band of shrieking banshees. He hugs Debbie, says something briefly to her, and then walks over to me. In a low voice, he says, "I need to talk to you alone, before you leave." My eyebrows rise to my hairline and I don't hide my impatience. I'm tired and I really, really want to leave. _Shit._

I let Jennifer know that she has to wait a few more minutes before we can leave. However, Ted and Emmett immediately pipe up and offer to take Jennifer home. To my chagrin, she instantly accepts. I don't know why I feel disappointed that she so quickly accepted their offer.

Jennifer bids everyone a quick good-bye and then pecks a good-bye kiss me on my cheek. She seems to have a need to express affection, and it seems I'm momentarily filling the void until Justin can resume his post. Actually, I don't mind. I tell her, "I'll call you later. If you need me, don't hesitate to call."

Before she can leave with Laurel and Hardy, Horvath gets everyone's attention for a little announcement. "Folks, listen up, please. Per doctors' orders, Justin won't be allowed visitors for a while, other than immediate family. He needs complete rest, and the doctors are being firm about this. Plus… well, we have security issues to consider, which is why we've got posted guards. It's a precaution, in case… well, in case Gold didn't act alone. Also, we are having issues with the press, they're hounding the hospital. So… go home, eat, sleep, and get back to your routines and we'll let you know when… you know… when you can see him. Okay, goodnight."

A rare moment occurs, one that I wish I'd known about before hand, because I would have recorded it with my phone camera – for posterity. Maybe I would have sent the picture to the Smithsonian. The family actually leaves without any protest or argument. Not one word – nothing. _Incredible._

* * *

><p>Horvath and I wait for everyone to clear out. I'm very curious, even a little nervous.<em> Shit – no more bad news about Justin, please… <em>

When we're alone, he hems and haws for a few long seconds before he starts to talk. "Brian…we needed to have this talk alone, and so if you're going to get pissed off, you can take it out on me, not on Justin's mother or the doctors."

I blankly stared back at him. _What now?_

"The only visitors that will be allowed to see Justin will only be his mother, maybe his sister, possibly his friend, Daphne. The doctors say Justin is going through some sort of psychosis – sort of a dementia thing. You both haven't really communicated; he's been out of it each time you've visited, so you haven't really seen how he is when he's awake."

I look at him in disbelief, "What… when did this conversation happen? What doctor decided this? Gupta? That son-of-a-bitch!"

"Brian – stop! Listen, Justin is afraid of seeing you. He's convinced himself all kinds of things. I don't understand all of this shit." Horvath rubs the palm on his hand on his forehead, trying to massage away the tension. "Between the fever, the trauma, the allergic drug reactions, and, and, and… he's a mess. He needs time to sort it all out. They plan to have a shrink evaluate him, and I'm told that things… will probably work out… eventually. They think it's momentary. His brain needs time to rewire his emotions. It will take a little time."

I'm clenching my teeth, so that I don't get arrested for yelling threats at a police detective inside of a hospital.

I take a deep breath and try to speak calmly, but my reserve doesn't last very long. "What do you mean he's '_**afraid'**_? Why wasn't I told about this before? _**I'm**_ his power of attorney; _**I'm**_ his partner – on paper and by his intent. He was coming back to _**me**_! What the fuck… why is he frightened of me? _**What the fuck happened?**_"

I feel like I'm melting inside. All my energy is draining away, leaving me with a dull, hollow feeling. I squeeze my hands into tight fists; I keep squeezing them, tighter and harder. A sudden flash of intense pain paralyzes my left hand. I might have torn open the stitches, but I just don't give a damn.

Horvath holds up his hands, signaling me to calm down. "Wait, wait! Shit – I said that wrong! Shit, he's afraidof you _**seeing**_ him, the wounds. Not 'afraid-afraid' of you. He… well, you know. They wounds aren't... It sounds like he doesn't want you to see them and reject him… and, uh, there's some other shi- … stuff that he said, but I -"

I half shout back at him, "I've seen it! I know – didn't you tell him-"

"We tried, but he's having problems comprehending things right now. There's no reasoning with him; I tried! He doesn't want anyone else to see him either, so you're not alone. He's talking to me and Barney, because… Dr. Gupta said something about no emotional connection, so he can't disappoint us – I have no fucking idea what that means… This all happened this morning. They don't know what triggered it, it just happened."

I snap back at him, "How long will this go on?"

"They don't know. Ah… Justin said something that you should know about, it might help you to understand more… He said that after he was bashed, you weren't around, and you didn't want to be around, and that… that… you really don't want to be around now. He said he doesn't want your pity… He became hysterical, that's when they had to sedate him… Listen, the doctors need to keep him calm, so… I'm sorry. I know you care about him."

He waits, letting me take it all in. I shake my head in bewilderment; I feel tears prick my eyes_. Shit, not this. Not now. Hold it together, Kinney. Not in front of this man_. I school my face so that it appears expressionless. I feel cold.

_I have to get out of here. Get a drink. I need a cigarette._ I turn and start to leave.

"Kinney… Brian… HEY!"

I stop my retreat and look back at him.

"Brian… your cast is dripping blood, buddy. You might want to get that looked at before you leave. Why don't I walk you down to emergency?"

* * *

><p><em>Irony is not rain on your fucking wedding day, Alanise Morrisette!<em>

_Irony is finally accepting him… going through all kinds of shit, and having all kinds of shitty, teenage food around, and his crap all over the loft… and you finally, finally admit that you want him, really want him… maybe even need him – but now, he doesn't want you! FUCK YOU ALANISE! 'Fucking rain on your fucking wedding,' what the fuck – who cares!_

_I don't want to think any more… It's been three fucking weeks since I last saw him, held him… Fuck, so much for "momentary"! What the fuck happened to "it's momentary"? – fucking doctors, they're quacks! He shut me out. Fucking little twat…twinky twat… twit!_

_Damn, this shit that Anita gave me is fucking strong – the best shit ever. And this trick sucking my dick… he's doing a good job, but I've had enough of this. I need to fuck something._

I pull the twink's mouth off of my dick. I grab him under his arms, haul him up to his feet, and spin him around so that he's facing the wall. I quickly prepare him and myself and then plow into paradise.

_Yes! Hmmm, he's not as tight as Justin… don't think… the fucking twat still hasn't asked for me. How could he still be afraid of me? Fuck that, fuck him._

The twink looks back at me; apparently I'm not fucking him fast enough. _Well, if he was tighter, then maybe I could get into it more!_ _Now he's trying to kiss me! What the fuck?_

I push his face away and force my brain to concentrate on here and now, including his mediocre ass.

By the time I stumble out of the backroom, I see that widdle Mikey and the boys are ready to call it a night.

I order a round for everyone, they protest, but all give in.

Michael yells into my ear, "Ben and I are going to drive you home and then we'll-"

I brush off Michael's offer, "I'm good, I can drive."

Michael cuts loose with an ear piercing whine that distorts my name and sets my teeth on edge, "Briiiiiiaannnn-"

I cut him off immediately. "Michael, DAMMIT! Stop that fucking whining… or feral cats… from throughout the kingdom will show up and try to mate with you."

A chuckling Ben has joined us, and replies, "Well, if he can say all that as eloquently as he just did, then he's okay to drive. Come on Michael."

Before the professor could collect Michael, the leaps at me and lands a sloppy smooch on my mouth - and almost busts my lip open. I push Michael back into Ben's arms, while wiping Michael's slobber from my face. I salute the professor, "Carry on – and take him with you." Ben and I share a conspirative, knowing smile. Michael will always be Michael - a puppy with too much energy. I watch with amusement as Ben hauls away a confused Michael.

Emmett prances closer to me, he seems like he's been enjoying many, many Appletinis. He's in a bitchy, prissy mood tonight – more than usual. He skips any perfunctory chit chat and goes straight for the jugular. "So, are you coming to Mel and Lindsay's anniversary party Saturday – or is Rage going to continue his fuck-a-thon?"

I snort back at him. I don't need to respond further.

Emmett makes a show of taking a sip from his Appletini. "Just as well. They weren't expecting you, anyway. Your invitation was just a formality. Actually, I think they are _ecstatic_ that you aren't coming, because I hear that a beautiful, little, blond twink has been talked into making his world premier appearance after being in seclusion. But shhhhhh, it's a secret, so don't tell anyone."

Em gives me a theatrical wink, giggles into his drink, and then chokes after he takes a sip.

Ted is listening in and intercedes in his own special spastic manner. He even attempts to muffle Em's mouth with his hand. "Em, _dammit_! You… you weren't supposed to say… let's go! Now! And put down that damn Appletini! Brian, just, just ignore him… just forget everything he said and don't, don't… don't do anything that, you know….you will regret. Justin is still so delicate…he won't be there but for a few minutes, it's something that his therapist says he should try. It's really not worth your effort, not that you want to go anyway – and you don't, so, so… so, just forget what Em said. Let's go Em!"

I blankly watch as Ted pulls a protesting, stumbling Emmett away from me.

My buzz has been successfully busted by Emmett. I turn around and face the back of the bar. I lean down on my elbows and look at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Even in my present condition, I look hot.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck... alright, Sunshine._

Johnnie the bartender - and a very good fuck - walks up and offers me a blow job, a drink, and an ass to fuck. "Though not necessarily in that order," he says with a salacious smile.

I smile back at him, but don't take him up on any of his offers. Instead, I make the long walk out to my jeep.

* * *

><p>The ride home was too sobering and now I will need something special to help me sleep. When I arrive back at the loft, I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and make a phone call for a hustler.<p>

I order 'fuck number two,' he's got shaggy blond hair and knows exactly what I like. The other one, who I call 'fuck number one,' has a better ass, but his hair is too short and his shoulders are two wide. I'm willing to pay for the closest thing to perfection that money can buy; I prefer perfection, but he doesn't want me, so…

As I wait for the hustler, I change up my drink and have a Chivas. I slowly make my way over to his drawer and open it. I reverently remove the sealed plastic bag lying inside. I open the bag and gently pull out Justin's tee-shirt, the one he wore the night before the _Rage_ party. I hold it up to my nose and inhale deeply. I smile as soon as my brain registers his scent.

_Well,_ _Sunshine-that-is-not-mine, I wonder what you would think of this. First, a bloody, silk scarf and now your dirty laundry – I don't know if I'm moving up or down the creepy meter. I really don't give a shit…it's all I have of you…_

* * *

><p>I'm sitting outside in my jeep, just down the street from Lindsay's house. Waiting…<p>

There's a bang on the passenger door and I jump at the noise, then jerk around to come face-to-face with a huge dyke holding two bags of ice.

She's definitely not a shy little wall flower. "Hey there, I think I recognize you from somewhere. You're a friend of Mel's and Lindsay's right? You're going to the party, right?"

I nod 'yes' to both her questions.

"Great! Can you give me a hand here with this ice? I've got a couple more bags in my truck."

_Sure, why the fuck not._ I follow her back to her truck and then help her haul the iceberg-sized load of ice to the land of Sappho.

I had stopped off at Woody's and had a couple of drinks to bolster my nerves. But, that's wearing off and I need to replenish my tank. I say adieu to the dyke and go in search of the bar.

I laugh to myself as I slink around the grounds, like the Grinch slinking around Who-ville. _Thanks, Sunshine, I have that ridiculous reference in my repertoire because of you._ I stealthily make my way into the house and locate the bar. I grab a beer and sneak out the side door. I decide to head back to the jeep and wait - but damn, if I'm not caught!

"Briaaaannnnnnn!"

_Michael… of course you would see me… _

I turn and greet him with a smirk and a resolute, "Michael."

"I didn't know you were coming!" He runs up to me. He takes a beat and looks around; I can see the little gears turning in his brain. "Hey, um, you wanna go for a ride or something?"

"_What_? Isn't Ben here?"

"Yeah, but he's… he's busy. I'm kind of bored, so… let's go." He grabs my arm and tries to pull me away from the house. I gently break away and start walking towards the back of the house.

_I might as well stay and have a front row seat at the show… I don't want to miss seeing the main attraction._

"Come on, Michael. Didn't your mother teach you any manners? We must always say 'hello' to our hostesses when entering their fine abode and partaking of their generosity."

I walk into the back garden and look around; some people see me and stop in mid-motion. I look around, searching for the lesbian celebrants. Mel sees me first, and I hear her hiss out, "Oh shit!"

Lindsay looks like she's starting to hyperventilate. Together, like a two-headed beast, they walk over to me in perfect, synchronized motion. And they sound like a two-headed beast as they both start sputtering out trite greetings and inane chatter.

"Brian, what are you doing here?" "You didn't tell us you were coming, you said you weren't coming." "Well, we're so glad that you're here." "Would you like something to eat-" "We're so lucky to have this marvelous weather today."

Michael grabs me by the crook of my arm and whispers in my ear that he has something urgent to tell me. I let him pull me off to the side, away from the crowd.

"Listen, Brian… Justin is coming, and he's… Well, I don't think he should be here and I told them that they shouldn't have invited him. I mean, I don't see how coming here would be good for him. He's not… right, you know, in the head. Kind of like after the bashing, but different. He gets weird, _really_ weird around some people and it's embarrassing, because he's so -"

I cut him off, muttering "Shut the fuck up Michael. Don't you talk about him like that. He's been through hell and back, he's allowed – expected to-"

"Well, it's his own damn fault. He got what he deserved! The way he cheated on you, humiliated you in front of everyone with that crazy violin player. That guy could have hurt you, Brian! He could've! Justin's so damn selfish, he didn't even think about _that_. He didn't even think about - "

Through gritted teeth, I snarl at him, "SHUT…THE…FUCK…UP…MICHAEL!"

"NO! I'm not! I'm sick and tired of everyone walking on eggshells because of _**poor**_ Justin. And, you're paying for his health insurance and he won't see you! Why? I'll tell you why, because he's a _**user**_! He should feel ashamed and embarrassed - he brought all of this on himself. I swear, Brian, it would have been better for all of us if you had just left him to die in that garage! We all would be better off – "

Before I can rationally think, I react – and send Mickey flying with a punch. I'm just as shocked as the faces around me.

_Why did I do that...? Why the fuck did he say those things about Justin… FUCK!_

Suddenly, I'm surrounded by angry people. Mel is shouting at me to leave. Deb is calling me every conceivable name in the book.

Then, I hear a sound through the mayhem… a familiar voice that makes a long, gasping sound…

I slowly turn and see Justin. Never in our life together has he ever looked as beautiful as he does at this very moment.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated!<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**I want to thank everyone for reading and a special thanks and warm hug to all those that have left comments. **

**Again, thanks for reading and commenting.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

_**Brian Kinney's POV (Entire Chapter)**_

I slowly turn and see Justin. Never in our life together has he ever looked as beautiful as he does at this very moment.

All actions and sounds are peripheral to my main focus – Justin's face. My brain barely acknowledges that a furious Ben has just plowed into me. I lift my arm and parry Ben's attempt to grab my shirt, but it's more of a reflex action, not a solid defense to his attack. I can hear Vic shouting at both of us. I feel someone pulling me away from Ben, but all I can see is Justin's face.

I watch as a myriad of expressions cross over his face. But, I'm puzzled when I see pain and remorse reflecting from his teary eyes.

Vic steps in front of me, blocking out my view of Justin. This breaks my trance-like state and I'm jerked back to the moment at hand.

"_Brian?_ Brian, you need to leave now. That's the best thing. Now – Ben, I said stop it! I mean it." I watch Vic back Ben down.

I move away from our little dramatic hub, leaving an irate Vic to struggle with an incensed Ben, and go looking for Justin. I plan to leave, but I'm going to take Justin with me.

_I'll take him home, to the loft… But, where did he go? _My head jerks from side to side as I look for him._ Did I imagine him? No. He was here! _

_He was standing there, by that big bush with Daphne._ I walk over to the spot and just stand there, trying to ascertain the what, where, and why of the last five minutes. _What the fuck? Did he leave? Where did…_

Two sets of hands grab my arms and I instantly pull out of them and then push back at the unseen enemy. Instantly, I hear a high-pitched squawk in response. It's Emmett, he and Ted are the ones that just dared to grab me.

"Brian, stop that! You almost hurt me! We are trying to help you – you idiot! Now come on!" Emmett grabs and jerks my right arm, motioning me to follow him. I again flip his hand off, but not as roughly as before. Ted pipes up with "We need to go! Now! I think some of them went in search of pitchforks and torches."

Emmett and Ted escort me to my Jeep; I don't know who they are actually protecting, me or the munchers' party guests. All the while as we walk, I'm looking for Justin, but see no sign of him.

_I think he left because I scared him away. Just fucking great! I just wanted to see him, talk to him. Fuck… fuck, I wanted to take him home… What is wrong with me? What was I thinking - I wasn't thinking, I just lashed out. Shit…_

As I'm buckling up my seatbelt, a fidgeting Emmett holds onto my open car door. I can tell that he's dying to say something. Apparently, I was right.

"I heard what Michael just said to you. He didn't mean what he was said… Michael shoots his mouth off before he thinks." I ignore his attempt to placate me. I have no intention or desire to discuss Michael. _What happened is between Michael and me, no one else._

"Oh, my sweet Lord! I just realized that the last time we were all here at Lindsay's, we all thought Baby was gone from us forever – "

_No – don't go there._ "Emmett, back away. I've got to leave." I grab the door and yank it out of Emmett's hands.

"Oh, oh… wait! Brian – I've got something to say to you. Stop rolling your eyes; I'm not going to scold you. Now, listen and just bare with me. Okay – listen… um, there's a saying that was written in the South… well, maybe not… I'm not really sure who wrote it… it might have been a Yankee, but - whatever. You see, the South truly understands the struggles of life and love… our passion, our trials and tribulations, much of our literature epitomizes-"

"Honeycutt! Can we pick this up?"

"Don't call me Honeycutt."

Ted yells at Emmett to hurry up, and Emmett yells back at him to shut up, and I give up and start the jeep.

Before I can pull away, Emmett grabs the driver's car door and opens it, while squealing, "Wait! Wait! Wait!" I reluctantly turn off the engine and slouch in my seat.

Emmett quickly continues, "Okay – listen. I know that Baby loves you, still. I can feel it. And you have feelings for Justin – don't deny it. So, just listen – there's this saying that you have to hear… I talked with Mystical Marilyn and she said that you have to… um… forget that. Forget what I just said. Anyway, you've probably heard this saying before, but you've never heard the TRUE ending, as it was originally written."

I brusquely adjust in my seat signally my growing impatience.

Emmett pauses for dramatic effect and I twirl my forearm around in a circle, motioning him to hurry it up with the saying.

"Okay, most people know the saying, 'If you love them… set them free… if they come back, it was meant to be. But, that's where the Yankees and the South differ. We say, 'if you love them… set them free… but follow your love, and when he's ready – there you'll be!"

_What? _"_**What**__?" I don't fucking believe this._

"Of course, you'll have to woo him, be his friend. He needs time to get over all of this. He's afraid, the poor baby. He told me that he saw his back and he knew… well, he thought that you wouldn't be… you, know… attracted-"

"Emmett, why do you care?"

"I want him happy again. You – hard as it is to believe – make him happy. You're, you're like… the big, nasty crocodile and he's the little tick bird that sits on you, keeping ticks and other parasites off of you. And if the bird stays with you, no other predators will hurt him, because he's sitting on a vicious reptile. And you don't mind that he's there, because deep down inside, you realize that you need… and want… your little tick bird."

_Are you fucking kidding me? A crocodile and a tick bird… Why the fuck am I listening to this living cartoon?_

I don't know if I should laugh or shout obscenities at him. I settle for an exasperated huff and pinch the bridge of my nose; I can feel a headache coming on. Either that or I'm sobering up and am just realizing that I've had the headache all day.

_Weird things happen at this damn house. I really am starting to hate coming here… Debbie spouted that same shitty ditty to me… but her version was more… It would make one hell of a Hallmark card, though - 'set them free and if they don't comeback, hunt them down and kill them.' Jesus, I need a drink. The crocodile needs a drink, and a couple of wildebeests to fuck._

I wave him closer to me, and when he approaches, I lower my voice to a near whisper. "Okay, I want to make sure that I've got this right… I wait, stalk, woo, and then lock him in a basement….OR, do I wait, WOO, then STALK, and lock him in a basement? "

I stare at him seriously, as if I really expect an answer.

Emmett blankly looks back at me and says 'goodbye' in a very touching way, "I hope someone bites your dick off tonight."

It's a struggle not to laugh out loud. Instead, I respond with my signature tongue in cheek smirk.

Something behind him catches my eye.

"Emmy Lou Who, I better go. I think I see the smoke from the torches."

Emmett turns around and sees what I see - a couple of bull dykes walking in our direction. I decide that I don't want to stick around to find out about their intentions.

I re-start up the jeep, push Emmett away from the car door, then quickly close and lock it. All the while, Emmett is shouting out what sounds like quotes from Harlequin romance novels.

"Don't let go, Brian. He needs you and you need him. Climb the tower and rescue-"

I pull away from the curb and then burn rubber in my hurry to leave. I head straight for Liberty Avenue. _The crocodile is now on the hunt for ass and strong, man-made substances._

As my drive, I allow my thoughts to drift without restriction.

_Emmett and Ted to my rescue…Who would have thunk it… _

_What are you thinking right now, Justin? _

_I need a drink. I want some of Anita's kick-ass E._

_Is this how it feels, Justin? People trying to control you life and they all think they know what is best for you. They're touching you when you don't want to be touched… grabbing and pushing… and the places that they are pushing you toward seem just as dark and dismal as the place that you're in. _

_I need a lot of drinks. I need to fuck and be sucked. I need sunshine, blue eyes, soft, creamy skin. _

_Stop running from me, Justin. _

* * *

><p>It's early, for me. Around eleven p.m. After the party, I went straight to Woodie's and got all of my needs filled. I decided to skip Babylon and gohome, instead. <em>It's been too long of a day.<em>

For most of the evening, I have been re-looping the events of the munchers' party. I've replayed Justin's reactions over and over again. I can't find any peace or solace in anything that I can remember.

As I'm entering the loft, I hear a caller leaving a message on my answering machine. _It's probably Michael; he wants me to meet him at Babylon. Well, not tonight, Mikey… Oh yeah, it can't be Michael… Who is it? _

Then I hear, "I'm so sorry, Brian. I didn't mean to cause a fight between you two. It's not…"

I resist the urge to run to the phone, because Brian Fucking Kinney runs to no man - or twink. But I do gather my dignity, adjust my posture to signify my strength and assurance, and I calmly cross to the phone. I politely, but firmly interrupt the caller's little speech with a simple, "Justin."

He actually sputters into the phone and then goes silent.

"Justin. Come on, answer me."

I hear him taking deep breaths; I can't tell what's going on with him.

"Justin, are you alright? JUSTIN, say something!"

A shaky, tearful reply floats back to me. "Brian, I'm so sorry. I really -" His speech dissolves into muffled mumbles and tearful sniffs - I can't understand a word he is saying.

"Justin, everything's okay. Just calm down, take a deep breath. "

As I talk to him, my austere composure slips away, and I become the Brian that only Justin knows. I sit on the steps of the bedroom and pinch the bridge of my nose to relieve my tension. I change my tone and become more cajoling and joking. "Your allergies are really bothering you again. I can tell."

I get a sniffle in return. Then, he attempts to talk again, but he's too drenched in tears and mucus to enunciate.

"Justin, you need to blow your nose, I can't understand you. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

I hear him put down the phone, then after a few moments, I hear him blowing his nose in the distance. I smile to myself, enjoying all the sounds that are Justin.

From the knocks and scraps emitting from the receiver, I can tell that he's come back on the phone. I ask, "Are you okay, Sonny Boy?"

A big sniffle is heard and then, "Yeah… it's, it's my allergies." Then, he self-consciously giggles.

_Ahhhhhh, yes. Do it again. _I laugh, hoping that it will cause him to giggle again. But, it doesn't. I just get silence from his end of the phone.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you?"

"… At Mom's house."

"Okay good." _You're somewhere safe._ "Damn allergies, huh?… I've been having a problem with allergies, myself… I'm starting to understand a little of what you have to deal with… the watery eyes."

I pause, hoping he gets my message. _Please talk to me Sunshine._

"Brian…I'm so sorry about everything. And Michael, so sorry about – "

"Hey! What have I told you about apologizes, they're just bullshit. Michael is an idiot and he's lucky that I only punched him once."

"God - no Brian! But, he's right…he said a lot of things that were right."

"_No_, Justin – "

"Brian – please. I just want… Michael _was_ right. I was… am selfish… and didn't think about all the consequences… and… and I'm sorry that you guys fought because of me…"

"Justin, just stop it – I mean… huh… can we talk about something else? How… how are you? Other than this shit? Tell me what your schedule is. Are you back in school?" Actually, I already know all of this information; Jennifer gives me a daily report. Justin has no idea and we're going to keep it that way.

I didn't get mad at Jennifer for not telling me about the no-visitor rule when Justin was in the hospital. She called me the same night that Horvath dropped the ceiling on my head. She said she just couldn't say those words to me. She cries just like Justin. She's made up for it ten-fold. She reports everything to me – everything. She's Team Brian; I have no doubt about her now.

"Um… I don't want… I'm not ready to go back to school. I just can't. I don't-" He's starting to spin out of control, so I cut him off.

"Fine, fine, shhh, just calm down. If you don't want to go, then you shouldn't go until you're ready."

"Brian… don't shut me up. And don't treat me like I'm a child… I, I want to talk about today, what happened at the party."

_Well, for someone who doesn't want to be treated like a child, you sound like a demanding ten years old. But, it's good that he's standing up to me. This is all fine and dandy, but let me take care of this issue, once and for all._

"Justin, Michael hurt our friendship, not you. Do you understand? It was just another line he crossed, but this time, it went too far. I went too far. I wish I hadn't hit him and I didn't like that you saw it. But, I have my limits. There are some things that no one should ever say and especially not to me.

Listen, this isn't getting us anywhere. Let's not talk about Michael, or the munchers, or anyone or anything else. Let's just talk about you, and how you are doing. Okay? That's what I want to know. Justin, what I care about is you… I care… so much about you."

I wait for a response. I'm actually holding my breath. Finally, he responds.

"I care about you, too, Brian."

I release my breath, which I didn't realize that I was holding. "Good, good. Well, now we've got a good place to start from."

"Brian, I didn't think you were going to be home, it's early… "

"Yeah, well, I am."

"I remember when I first met you, you were so happy. Drunk and happy. No worries… just men and fun. I fucked that up for you."

"Justin, I don't want to talk about this. Just stop it."

"No, you stop, Brian! Stop… trying to shut me… Stop trying to stop me… I didn't realize about the health insurance. I don't know how I'm going to pay you back – "

"You don't, you're insured-"

"Brian – my life is so fucked up. I have nothing, I'm going nowhere, and I am nothing. No, that's not true. I'm like a magnet for haters. What's happened to me just doesn't happen to people. There's something wrong with me. I've been attacked twice, and it's never going to stop. I know that… and I can't jeopardize you or anyone, anymore. "

I can feel the heat of anger rising in my chest. I don't want to hear any of this nonsense. I have to shut him up, and perhaps I'll come on too strong, but he's starting to piss me off. "Justin – just shut the fuck up. I've had enough, do you understand? This is bullshit! Just shut up."

Apparently, Justin has reached the end of his patience, as well. He comes at me with both barrels fully loaded.

"Don't you fucking tell me what to do! I called at a time that you're not supposed to be there. I didn't want to talk to you – because you fucking never want to hear what I have to say!

"Justin!"

"NO! No! You listen to me… I can't jeopardize you or anyone, anymore - you need to let go… because, because - we're not good for each other… You're... You're too old for me and I need someone that treats me with respect and cares about my feelings. That person isn't you, Brian… Just, just stop ruining your life… leave me… leave me alone and get on with your life."

My blood is boiling and I unfortunately strike out at him without forethought. "Who the fuck says I want you back, _Sunshine_? Don't mistake my charity for something else."

O_h shit – DAMMIT! Why did I just say that! I always go too fucking far. "Justin – listen, I didn't-"_

Justin really surprises me by what he says next. He starts rattling off an enraged litany that takes my breath away.

"I used you. Michael was right. I just… I've been using you… and I'm sick and tired of being your rent boy. And… and I'm not pretty anymore. I look like a freak. What would that do to your fucking reputation Brian? You could never fuck a freak. What would people say, Brian? Your precious little ego couldn't stand that, could it?"

Justin laughs, but it sounds forced and bitter. "Did you even know I was gone, Brian? You just kept fucking and drinking, I know you never missed a beat. Fuck you, Brian! I don't need you anymore. I got what I wanted. Just leave me alone!… Oh God… I'm sor-… No… you deserve better, Brian. You could do so much better than me, so… leave me the fuck alone! I'm tired of your help, I don't need it, and I don't want it… I don't want… you. Have a nice life. Goodbye."

I hear a click and Justin is gone.

I sit frozen like a statue. I slowly rise, put away the phone, and cross to the liquor cart.

A certain phrase that he said zips through my mind, 'I was just using you.'

"Well… fuck you too, Sunshine. You little fucking… I can't believe I put up with you and your shit. I don't need your crap. I don't need you either, Sunshine! I just felt sorry for you! How's that, how does that feel! FUCK YOU - SUNSHINE!"

I pick up a bottle from liquor cart and hurl it against the far wall. I enjoy seeing it shatter into a thousand pieces. A wine glass follows it, then another. I grab a tall liquor bottle with full intention of throwing it against the wall, but I stop myself. It's a brand new bottle of Black Label. _That would be a major waste – and he's not worth it. _I crack the seal and fill a glass nearly to the brim_. Oh, this would have made my old man green with envy._

I make my way over to the couch and sit. I take a good, long drink and enjoy the burn as the liquor flows down my throat.

I try to remember all the things the little shit said. I want to wallow in my pain and then shred every word that he uttered. _I am going to learn my lesson well from all of this. Then, I'll be able to rid myself of that little fucking parasite, once and for all! _

But, something just isn't right. _Or, am I deluding myself? _

'I look like a freak.' 'I can't jeopardize you or anyone, anymore.' '…I'm not pretty anymore.' '… get on with your life… just forget about me.'

I take along long drink. "Yeah, you said you were using me, well guess what little boy. The bank just closed. You've got all that you're going to get, Sonny Boy. Ha, ha! Luckily, you didn't get much! Your sugar daddy is… shit."

'… you deserve better, Brian. You could do so much better than me.'

_Yeah, I can do better than you, Justin; and I most certainly will._

'You could never fuck a freak.' 'I'm like a magnet for haters… I've been attacked twice, and it's never going to stop.'

"No, no, no! It's like that stupid movie quote, 'Just when I think I've finally getting away, you pull me back in.' Well, that's not going to happen!" I take a long chug from my drink and start coughing but end up laughing.

"Not bad, Justin. A little heavy handed. But, for your first try, Sunshine, not bad."

I stand up and start to pace back around the room, almost manically. _Am I deluding myself? No, I'm not. I taught him too damn well. Though, he could use some practice._

I walk over to the windows and gaze out at the darkness. "Sonny Boy… if you're going to throw someone from a cliff, you shouldn't start out with pathos and self-flagellation. It just doesn't play well and in poker, it would be called, 'showing your hand.' But, you get a gold star for getting me stirred up enough to lose my temper. Not bad, not bad at all."

_Here's the thing, **Sunshine.** Nobody throws Brian Kinney from a cliff. _

"It's my fucking cliff! I invented the damn thing! I should patent it."

"Well, Sonny Boy… I'm going to give you a big lesson in the 'Kinney technique.' It's all about making people believe that the things they do are of their own volition."

_Yes, little boy, you're about to see how the big boys play. And, I play to win, Justin. _

* * *

><p>I take off my sunglasses and adjust my eyes to the light in Michael's comic shop. He's engrossed in sorting through a bin and it takes him a few moments before he looks up to see me. He smiles hesitantly at me, which is a very reassuring sign.<p>

I walk over to him and hand him his present, it's enclosed in a white box. It's meant to be a peace offering, somewhat.

Michael yelps, "Brian, its dripping blood, what is it?"

I smugly chuckle. "It's your mother's heart. It's a thirty-five dollar a pound, Kansas City steak. Put it on your eye and then eat it."

Michael is rightfully revolted and he throws it to side. I don't think Michael fully understands the symbolism, but I can tell that he realizes the importance of this moment.

_Yes, Michael, I come bearing a gift that is as bloody as our fight yesterday._ His verbal assault on Justin was just as bloody as my physical retaliation on him. We've never, ever have fought like that and I hope we never will again.

He meekly says, "I'm sorry about… what I said about Justin. Do you think he heard me?"

I nod 'yes.'

"Damn. Shit, I'm sorry. Brian, I just… you must really lov-… care about him a lot. You've never hit me before!"

I stare at him with an unblinking, solemn gaze. I am not joking at all when I tell him, "Michael, I need you to back off. Completely. He's not doing well. He's… "

"I was just trying – I'm your friend! I'm your best friend, Brian! I love you and I just don't want to-"

"_**Are**_ you my best friend Michael? Would a best friend attack the other's wounded partner? _**Would he?**_ Would he jeopardize the mental and physical health of the partner? Would he hurt – I mean interfere – with his best friend's life like that? Who asked you to, Michael? I can _**fucking**_ fight my own fights, Michael! I don't need you to do that! I don't need you to stand in my way; I need you by my side – that's the place where a best friend stands."

I'm so wound up that I have to stop before I say something that I will regret. I roll my lips into my mouth and bite down on them. I glance over at Michael, he has his head bowed down; he sincerely looks remorseful. _Good, I got my point across._

_You have a plan, stick to it. Step one – reunite with Michael. Check. Step two, encourage his dream – resurrect Rage. It's his ultimate dream and he needs it, especially the money. And it will lead to step three – he'll reconnect with Justin. _

I see the life-size cut-out of Rage and grab it. "Don't walk away… from this. This is your dream, Mikey. Plus, it's good money, right?"

Michael peeks up at me and shyly smiles. "Justin won't work with me after what I said. I don't think Rage will be –"

"Apologize – sincerely. See where it gets you. Come on, Michael – if you can charm a doctor and a professor into giving up their virtue, surely you can charm a poor, little, sweet twink. He needs this as much as you do. He needs help, Michael."

Michael looks puzzled by my statement. "Why? He's got you. You'll-"

"He doesn't want my help. He agrees with you completely. He thinks he's a horrible person, and ugly to boot – the scars. He's set me free. You'll be happy to know that he's taken everything you said to heart. Because he's evil like that, right? Isn't that what users do – they implode, self-destruct, right?"

Michael looks stricken with guilt; he's actually turning slightly pale. He quietly mutters, "Shit. No, he's not. I was just… stupid."

I listen to Michael chastise himself for a little longer, which I actually enjoy. It's also good for him; he gets too smug and snide at time, which I don't like at all. But, I can't enjoy it for too long because I have an appointment. He invites me to dinner at the diner, but I let him know that I have other plans. 'Fuck number two' is due to arrive at the loft in an hour, and I still have some condoms to buy.

The next two weeks pass by in a flurry; new clients have kept me occupied during the day and some evenings. Tricks have kept me entertained late into the night. I've not seen or heard directly from Justin, but I talk with his mother daily. He's still staying with her.

I've only seen Michael several times at the diner, most of our communication is by phone, albeit brief conversations. I've been eating out with clients or ordering in at the loft. I plan to call Michael tonight and see how the resurrection of Rage is going – 'code' for how Justin is doing - but he beats me to it.

"Brian! Guess what!"

"Michael. Monkey's butt – that's what!"

"Briiiiiaaaaaan! No, I got a call from my editor and he's asked for a new edition. He's paying us an advance for it!"

"Us?"

"Justin and me. I had… we're talking and things are going okay, you know?"

"Oh? Good… How is he?"

"Don't you know?"

"We don't talk. He won't see me."

"Oh, I didn't know. Neither one of you talked about it, so I just thought you were keeping it private. Well, he's fine. He's coming out of his shell and he's doing really good in crowds. Daphne goes with him everywhere, as much as she can. His mom drops him off at shop and Daphne picks him up. He's okay with that. So… he's doing okay. He's more like his old self, kind of."

"Well, that's good to hear. Is the advance substantial?"

"Hell yeah! It's a thousand dollars – a thousand dollars, that's five hundred for the both of us!"

"Great, good deal. Good for you, Michael. Well, I gotta go."

"Wait! Wait, um, I… I need to see you about something. I mean, I need you to see something. Um, meet me at Zulu's coffee shop tomorrow at four. No! Um, make it three-forty-five. Okay?"

"Michael, I don't-"

"Please Briiiiaaaaan. I need your help! Please! It's my editor; I need you to see the contract before I sign it. I don't want to sign something that I don't understand. Tomorrow, Zulu's, three-forty-five. Please Brian, and don't be late."

* * *

><p>It's three-forty-five and there's Michael, standing outside of Zulu's. He sees me and comes running over to greet me. I give him only a partial hug, we're in Straight-land, so kissing is not appropriate. I normally wouldn't care, but I'm not in the mood to deal with hostile breeders today.<p>

Michael is carrying a large, brown flat box. "Whatcha got there, a present for me?"

Michael starts talking a mile a minute while we walk to back to the café. I thought we were going into the cafe, but Michael surprises me by stopping at the opening of the alley next to the shop. He says he has to watch for the editor's rep – representative - outside. Something about the rep doesn't know what he looks like. _Whatever._

Michael keeps checking down the street for the rep and continues to bore me with Rage crap. He suddenly grabs my sleeve and pulls me slightly into the alley. I'm not pleased and let him know; he explains to me that we're blocking the sidewalk and we have to be more considerate of others.

_Fine, whatever! _

I'm getting exasperated. I check my watch, it's four. Where's the rep? "Michael, this guy better be here in a few minutes, because I'm on a tight schedule. I have cocktails with a client at six and I need to stop off at the loft to change."

Michael glances behind me and quickly says, "I see him. Here, give this to him and tell him to call me tonight or tomorrow." Michael shoves the box into my arms, jumps up and kisses me on the check, then quickly adds, "I _**am**_ your best friend, Brian. Don't ever forget that. 'Bye." Michael turns and starts running in the opposite direction of where he spotted the rep.

I trot out to the sidewalk and shout out, "Michael, what the fuck. Where are you going?" To say that I'm irate is an understatement.

"Brian." Someone behind me quietly says my name.

His voice hits me like a sonic wave. I actually stagger when I recognize it. I slowly turn and see Justin standing five feet away. He's dressed like the Unabomber, wearing jeans, a large pair of aviator sunglasses, and a hoodie, with the hood pulled over his head. We stare at each other for what seems like hours, mutually memorized.

"What's going on?"

I smile at his question. _I don't fucking know, but I'm glad that it's going in this direction._ _Not bad, Michael. Your ability to interfere without caution is finally paying off. _

_Ice water must flow through my veins. _I feel alert, calm, and cool. It seems that all of my senses are heightened. _They always are when he's around._

I quickly cover my initial shock with my signature smirk and tongue firmly planted in my cheek.

"Well, Michael will be gloating about this set up for weeks. Oh and looky _here_, widdle Mikey also weft you a big pwsent! Big box, ooohhhh. I wonder if it really has proofs in it."

Justin is not Brian Fucking Kinney, but he is my protégé and his little quip of a response makes me proud. "Maybe it has bloody meat in it."

I laugh out loud. _There's the smartass Sunshine that I know and love. That's just a figure of speech, I don't... oh, fuck it. _

"So, he shared our touching, makeup moment with you?"

Justin shyly smiles back at me. He looks so beautiful and bright.

I seem to be coming out of some sort of stupor, one that I didn't realize that I was in. _I've been like this since the last time I saw you… really saw you and held you. This is what you do to me, you make me feel alive._

I decide to joke with him and push the envelope a little, so that I can ascertain his state of mind. "Or was this a set up by you, so you could apologize?"

Just looks clearly baffled, but that's all. I take it as a good sign, especially since he's not running away or crying - or both.

"Okay, let's go inside. But I need to take some medicine, my hand is hurting." It's not hurting, but it a great way to manipulate him. He looks at the cast on my hand and his sunshine goes a little dim. But that's okay, because it means my little ploy is working.

I enter the café, still firmly holding onto the box. I'm now officially holding it hostage, thereby ensuring his company, hopefully.

It works; he meekly and with obvious trepidation, follows me into the café. We get in line, I take his order, and I tell him to go get us a table in the back. He's still a little dazed and doesn't think to take the box from me.

I watch him weave his way back to an empty table. I can't help but look at his ass; it's the best ass that I've ever encountered in my entire 'fucking' history and I dearly miss it.

I arrive at the table with our drinks – hot chocolate for him though he ordered coffee, and water and coffee for me. I decide to continue to play up my non-existing disability. I purposely struggle to open my sugar packets. He quickly reaches over and finishes the task, along with opening my bottle of water. Guess I should feel ashamed of my behavior, but I do not. It's a means to an end.

He quietly asks me about my hand, apparently no one told him. I decide not to go into detail and joke about a renovation gone wrong. I ask about his ribs and general health. I only get a quiet and curt, "I'm fine" for my troubles. _So much for misery loves company._

We sit in comfortable silence and I watch him enjoy his hot chocolate. I knew he would want it more than coffee. He just requested coffee so that he would seem mature.

He licks the top cover of his drink, a dribble of the hot chocolate had splashed out of the opening. My dick instantly grows to almost full mast. I want to reach over and grab him, kiss him deeply, then bend him over the table and fuck his senseless.

To force myself to stop ogling him, I break the silence with, "So, what did you want to talk about."

He ducks his head down and mumbles, "I didn't. Michael… I don't know why he did this." He discreetly zips up his hoodie jacket, closing it completely.

"Justin, I've already seen your wounds. When they flew you to the hospital, I was right there, waiting for you. I saw it all and approved all of your treatments. By the way, I would have no problem fucking you. Would you like me to prove it to you?"

I smirk at him, with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. Right now, I consider it an oral hard-on. I sit back and enjoy the show of a flustered Justin. His face turns pink, then red. He almost spills his drink, and he squirms in his seat.

"Take off the hood and glasses. You're being rude."

"Reporters were following me for awhile. They've stopped, but I'm still taking precautions." But, he reluctantly complies with my request. I knew about the reporters and asked Horvath for help. He called in some favors and the reporters are no more. He said the threat of endless parking tickets frightens the bravest of reporters. Justin shouldn't have any more problems and it sounds like its working.

I decide to stoke the fire. A little heat will rile him up. Since anger and passion are just a hair-width apart, I'm hoping to eventually see some spark of one that will lead to the other. So, I'll piss him off and maybe put a sparkle back in his eyes. Maybe more, if I'm lucky.

"Let's see, when we ended our last chat, you had… Ah, yes! You confessed that you didn't just cockle me, but that you're a 'playa' and you were playing me for what you could get… Well, Sunshine, I have news for you. You're a lousy rent boy. You walked away with nothing. Hell, even Michael, in his lame-ass attempt at playing house with the doctor, at least walked away with a car, a trip to Paris, new clothes, and a shitload of other goodies."

He is steadily looking at his hot chocolate and I have a feeling he wishes he could crawl into it. He meekly dribbles out, "David loved Michael. He cared about Michael. And vice versa. There's no comparison."

His implication pisses me off._ I care about you, you know that, I've told you this - but fuck love! That stupid concept is why we are here in this steaming pile of shit._

"Love, love, love – fucking 'love.' Is that all you care about, Sunshine. False words and cheesy rings? When are you going to let go of this? I've told you, love is an idiotic concept scraped out of fairy tales by fools, who will eventually end up living miserable lives because they never find it. It doesn't exist! Hell, I'm really surprised that you're still spouting that crap. I'd thought that you had come to your senses by now, especially after everything that you've been through."

Then I catch my breath when I realize what I just said. It sounds bad, even to me._ I just threw the whole fiddler thing in his face. I fucking can't believe I just said that. Oh fuck… maybe it's okay. He's not screaming at me, so..._

He locks eyes with me, holding me with a firm gaze. He's masking whatever he's feeling, which is not a good sign. Then, he quietly replies, "You're right. It wasn't love between them. They were together because David is _so_ extremely successful and an excellent provider. He _knew_ how to keep a boy in style."

I can feel my pulse triple and my pressure shoot up into a danger zone. I take a deep breath and literally count to five, forcing myself to stay calm.

_Touché, you little bastard; you sonofabitching twinky, twat, twit… Well done. That was so spot on that I think you left a mark… and David was not more successful than me… I don't think._

Justin puts on his sunglasses, and then he stands up and covers his head with the hood. He lifts his chin in that haughty manner that both irritates and entices me and then he starts to leave.

_Oh, hell no! No you don't! _I reach out and catch him around his waist as he walks by. "That is so like you, Sunshine. When you hear something you don't like, you leave. Why don't you grow a set of balls for once and fight for what you want, instead of always running away? The only person that beats you in anything is yourself, _Sunshine_."

I don't know what I was expecting but it sure wasn't what he did next. He grabs my face in his hands and delivers a lips-crushing kiss that hurts, but still makes me want more. The instant that I start to respond, he stops kissing me. He looks at me for several seconds and then practically runs out of the café.

_Well… I think we're making some head way… Things got a little helter-skelter there, but they're… they're… we'll get there, I think._

_He forgot the box of proofs. Good - another chance… and now he has to come to me. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks so much for reading. Kind words of encouragement are always appreciated.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8:<strong>

_**Brian Kinney's POV (Entire Chapter)**_

_Holy Shit!_

Justin is standing in the doorway of the loft… and his general appearance is not an image that I will be conjuring up the next time I jack off.

He's wearing his Unabomber sunglasses and a crap-shit outfit that makes me physically cringe. It looks like he's trying to impersonate a rap star, or a thug from the hood, or a homeless rapper… or an anarchist, fashion victim who wants to be a homeless rapper from the hood.

I catch myself looking at the stairs, checking to see if there are any witnesses. It's something like this that could tarnish my impeccable reputation.

_What the hell, Sunshine?_

He has on so many layers that I'm amazed that he's not panting from heat exhaustion. He is wearing a huge, old, Army-issued outer coat over a hoodie jacket. The hood's strings are drawn so tight that his face is partially obscured. On his head is a Red Sox baseball cap, on top of the hood - why, I don't know, it seems redundant... _two head gears_? I don't follow rap couture, but I think he's nicely rounded out the look with the horrible, baggy camouflage-print pants and the ridiculous, black high-tops.

_Oh, dear God, __**NO**__! _Did my heart just miss a beat? _Are those gold chains hanging down his chest? _I feel actual bile rising up my throat. I swallow and take several deep breaths through the nose.

"… So… where is Snoop Dog and the rest of your posse?"

I see pump, pink lips screw up in irritation, but get no response. I wave him into the loft and close and lock the door behind him.

I stick my tongue into my cheek, trying not to say anything further about his appalling outfit. I'm afraid he might bolt at the littlest provocation, and I don't want that. My goal is not to scare the prey, but to capture it.

I have carefully crafted a snare, specifically designed for my little blond rabbit. I've included food in the plan, and I'll even lower my standards and allow pizza to cross over the loft's threshold. Pizza is the optimum bait, it works wonders on Justin, it will quickly and effectively calm him down when he's throwing one of his princess tantrums.

"It's on the table." I point to my Stratus Mono dining table, where the box of Rage proofs sits. I return my desk and then pretend to immerse myself back into my project.

I surreptitiously watch Justin's hooded figure amble over to the table to retrieve the box. I'm pissed because I want to see his butt, the outline of his cock – everything - but can't. Much to my chagrin, all those goodies are now being smothered by the contents of Salvation Army thrift bin.

_If he's trying to be inconspicuous then he's either sadly naïve or his blond roots have now grown into his brain. No "bro from the hood" walking down the sidewalk in this neighborhood would go unnoticed._

My computer pings an alert that I've just received an email. I open and read it, but at all times, I know where he is and what he is doing. Right now, he's standing at the dining table, fidgeting and staring at me. That's a good sign.

I suppress a gleeful smile as I sense him approaching me.

"Brian, can I talk to you? Please?"

I don't look up from my laptop, but answer him with a curt, "Talk."

"I… um… I want to thank you… for everything that you-"

"Justin, I feel like I'm talking to a closet. Why don't you clear off a shelf or two, so I can see your face?" I don't want to hear a shitty, obligatory 'thank you' from him, unless it's followed by 'for fucking me into the mattress.' He should know better.

I guess my tone had a little more bite than I realized, his shoulders are now hunched and his pink, plump lower lip is jutting out. I light a cigarette to distract myself from imagining what I would like to do with that pouty, little lip.

Despite the obvious signs that he is irked with my request, he acquiesces and removes his outer coat. I see a flash of his belly and my cock instantly signals to me that it's on the job, and ready to do its duty.

He turns and walks over to the couch and lays his coat over the back. I'm actually salivating now – I can see his ass cheeks jiggle with every step. W_alk around some more, Sonny Boy. _

_Is that what it's all about for me, a ridiculous obsession with your ass, mouth, and cock? No, unfortunately, it's not… it's more than that. But, those are some fantastic perks._

_I'm finished with casting my pearl before swine. I guess you're not the only one learning life lessons, little twat._

I quietly chuckle to myself as I nonchalantly pull my shirttail out of my pants and arrange it to hide my poking pecker.

He stops a little too early for my satisfaction. "The chains, too, Fiddy Cent. All that bling might distract low flying aircraft." He scuffs but nevertheless, fulfills my request.

My mind drifts to a time in the past, when we were in bed and he was being a very, very obedient boy. He was going down on me and… _okay, not the right moment for this memory._

"So, how are all the other 'bros in the hood' doing? _**Why**_ the fuck are you dressed like that?"

He blushes and drops his head. I can barely hear him when he mutters, "Yeah, I guess it's a bit much. People are… I just don't want to be noticed."

"Well, I hate to tell ya, Sunshine, but this breathtaking little ensemble is going to draw attention. We don't normally have Lil Bow Wow skulking around in this neighborhood. Come here."

Justin hesitates but then slowly shuffles over to me. When he's in range, I reach up and take off his glasses. I look into his eyes, trying to find out if he's stoned, or if there is some other reason for why he's wearing these clothes and acting like a beaten puppy hiding from its master. What I see is confusing. _I haven't been that harsh, have I?_ He has tears in his eyes.

I stand up, but move slowly so that I don't scare him. "What's going on, Justin? What's happened?" He shakes his head and avoids my eyes. I reach out to touch his face, but he evades me, then turns and walks towards his coat.

_Fuck. FUCK! NO! You are not leaving!_ I'm forced to jump ahead in my game plan. I stop his retreat with, "Justin, I need your help."

It works; he stops in his tracks and looks at me with wide-eyed bewilderment. _Yeah, my bubble butt beauty, I know how to play you._

"I need you... to help me with a GLBT center carnival advertisement. I need a poster-"

He practically bellows back at me, "You hate the center!"

"Yeah, well. They need me and I need you. Plus… " I hold up one of my trump cards – my left arm that is still in a cast. I really didn't want to have to pull from the bottom draw of emotional manipulations, but fuck it; all is fair in love and war. And it's working, he's no longer bolting.

Justin can't resist an injured or sick Brian. He turns into a gooey mess of emotions and he becomes ridiculous with excessive pampering and petting, and it's wonderful… for awhile. Great sex, too.

"Oh, my God, Brian. Mom told me that you smashed your hand through the window. I'm so sorry-"

"Hey! Are you going to help me? I need a poster designed in say, three days, and flyers, and I can't do it myself. I don't have the hand power or talent; I can't use my staff-"

As I'm speaking, it he walks back to me, or so I thought. He veers before he gets to me and heads over to the steel beam that is about five feet away from me. It's one of four beams that aesthetically enhance the masculinity of my loft and me, but it also holds up the ceiling. I sit down on the corner of my desk. I'm not going to invade his need for personal space, not yet.

"I'll pay you-"

"You don't have to pay me, it's for charity."

"Nope, I'm not doing it for free and neither will you. But trust me, they will be making a _shitload_ of money, my little fee won't be missed." I don't need to tell him about my new toy, a mint-condition, vintage Stingray that is just waiting for me to rescue it from a middle-aged breeder. He'll find out soon enough. _He'll look beautiful sitting in it, his hair blowing in the wind... _

"Okay, five hundred." His juts his chin up slightly and I'm sure his intension is to appear forceful and unwavering. But actually, it makes him look hot and intriguing, and a challenge that few would ignore.

"Three hundred."

"Five hundred."

I nod my acquiescence. "Deal. I'm very impressed, well done." _Consider that your foreplay, twat._

He blushes, but smiles triumphantly.

_He looks fucking edible. _I have to look away or I may take a running jab at him.

I hear him clear his throat and I re-focus on him. He's concentrating on his sneakers and I have to strain to hear him when he speaks. "Brian… I've been thinking a lot about everything and… " His pause looks down at the floor. "I would like us to be friends. Can, can we… do that?"

I don't know if I should laugh or tell him to get the fuck out. I choose another option, "I don't fuck my friends, Justin."

His mouth opens and closes several times without sound. He reminds me of a fish out of water.

_You little shit… whoa… calm and cool, Kinney. I'm fucking tired of this chase; I'm going in for the kill. _

I slowly get up and walk over to him. I'm holding myself up as straight and tall as possible, so that I'll tower over him. It's my intend, that when I look down on him, he'll feel as insignificant and small as he just made me feel.

"Justin, you want me to fuck you. So, to be your friend will prove to be a problem for you." I see fear flicker in his eyes, but he's not running. That's a good sign, a very good sign, and an affirmation that what I just said is truth.

I lower my voice to a husky, persuasive tone, "Do you remember the last time we kissed, really kissed? We were so hungry for each other, that we practically tore skin taking off each other's clothes." I take a small step closer and now I'm slightly pressed against him. I bend so I can whisper in his ear.

"You begged me… pleaded for me to take you… fuck you… until you couldn't think anymore. Do you remember that? You were facing me," I touch my lips to his ear and rub my rock hard cock against his hip, "lying on your back; and I had your knees bent up to your shoulders. You fucking begged me to ram you hard. 'Fuck me harder, pleeeaassseee Brian. I need it so badly.' You remember that, don't you?"

I hear his breath quicken and his body is tensing up. I smirk in satisfaction. I slip my right hand behind his neck and caress it. He starts to rub his cock against my thigh, he's doing it in a subtle manner, but the boy is definitely trying to hump my leg. _Come and get it, Sunshine._

I gently blow hot air into his ear and I hear him trying to suppress a moan. I whisper, "You were so needy that night. You needed me and wanted me inside of you. And I wanted to give you everything that you wanted. I wanted to be in your hot, tight ass so very, very much."

I run my lips down his neck. "I remember that your pulse was so strong and fast, like it is now. I licked and sucked on your neck, sucking on this very vein, like this." I lick and then suck on the throbbing artery in his neck. Justin is now breathing heavily. I feel his body sag and I place my arm around his waist, partially holding him up.

I pull him into me and adjust my body so that our cocks are aligned. I start pushing and rubbing my cock against his. He gasps and pushes into me. "You were so hot and tight, I could've stayed inside of you all night. I want to be inside of you now." Justin moans and grabs my neck and tries to pull me into a kiss. But I don't let him.

I pull away from him and then distance myself with a few steps backwards. "So, Sunshine, do you still just want to be friends?"

He's trembling, his nose is flaring. He attempts to talk, "No… I mean, yes. I, I, I think I know… I just didn't think that it was an option. You said… you don't give sympathy fucks… I mean, it seemed like you didn't want me… anymore."

I turn away from him and walk up the bedroom stairs. I stop on the top stair, which is the entrance to my bedroom. I stare out into the loft but not at him. I remove my tie in long, slow, fluid motions. I know without looking that his eyes are trained on my every move.

"Well, it seems to me that what we have here… is a failure to communicate." I quietly chuckle and then frown, he may not know that quote from the movie, "Cool Hand Luke." _Oh, well. It's a great line._

"I think we need to clear the air." I glance at him and see him swallow. Then I catch a reassuring gesture from him, though it's actually a reflex action. His cock jerked. _Good, I have his full attention._

"You will never play violin music in my presence."

I see his face startle in alarm. _I'm ripping the bandage off, Sunshine. Let's get it out in the open. _

_He's not running – good - very, very good. _"It may take us some time to work through everything. We may have to work long and hard at times, maybe deep into the night at times, until we're mutually satisfied with our progress."

My salacious smile gives away the true meaning of my words. An impish grin blooms on his face. N_ow we're communicating. _

I crook and flex my index finger, beckoning him to me. He doesn't hesitate and joins me quickly.

I reach over and start to unzip his hoodie jacket. Apparently, he forgot that to fuck me, he'll have to let me see him naked. He starts to pull away but I grab his shoulders, "Justin, I've seen them. I've talked to your doctors and I know when and at what stage you'll have all your cosmetic surgeries."

"Brian… it's so bad." He can barely keep eye contact with me. Tears are welling up in his eyes.

I whisper, "You left him for me, right?" He nods 'yes' and the tears are now trailing down his face.

"I've been waiting for you." It takes him a moment, but I know exactly when he realizes the meaning of my words. His face splits into a spectacular Sunshine smile, while his tears pour down.

As I lean down to kiss him, he lifts up on his toes and meets me half way. This moment is something I'll never forget. It's the moment when the light returned to my life

I force myself to release his lips and scoop him up into my arms. He yelps in surprise and insists that I put him down. But, I ignore him; instead, I carry him over to my bed and gently place him on it. He starts laughing and calls me a closet romantic. I've been called worse.

He quiets down when I begin to undress. I put on a little show for him, but do it in a manner that isn't obvious. He seems to be mesmerized by my body. _Well, that makes sense, I am 'Brian Fucking Kinney,' and he has been… is… a devotee of the Kinney dick. _

When I finish, I join him on the bed. A tremor of excitement runs through my body. I have to steady my right hand, it's actually shaking. I gently kiss Justin while slowly unzipping his hoodie jacket. My need for him becomes overwhelming and I quicken my efforts to rid him of these hideous clothes. But, before I know it, we're in a full out tug-of-war.

Justin is trying to hide his scars on his chest by using his discarded tee shirt, pillow or whatever he can grab. Whenever I remove one object, he substitutes with another.

I stop my efforts in frustration, I move away and flop flat onto my back. My exasperated exhale seems to echo through the loft.

_I'm pushing too hard._ _It's like after he was bashed._ "I… eh… When you're ready… we'll… Justin… no matter what, don't let them win. Don't let psychos or greasy fiddlers take away the pleasure and right to fuck. It's what we're fighting for, the right to fuck who and when we want."

Though I'm staring at the ceiling, I can peripherally see and feel him adjust on the bed. He turns on his side so that he's facing me. I slowly turn my head and look back at him. I reach over and wrap my hand gently around the back of his neck. "Justin, you're alive. I'm alive. And we're here now. That's what matters… We almost didn't make it… I was pushing just now; I don't want to do that. I can wait, I've done it before and I can do it again… It's only time… I'm an asshole, but you know that."

He slyly smiles at me. "Yes, you are. But that's why I love you."

We look into each other's eyes and have an unspoken conversation. _I don't need to verbalize anything… the words aren't necessary… he knows. He has to know, right?_

_Well, maybe it's time to order him pizza, he deserves it. And the sickening sight of the grease will calm done my dick._

As I try to sit up, Justin grabs my arm to stop me.

He hesitantly moves his hand which is clutching his tee shirt, away from his chest. I can now see the pink scars lying there. There are only four and they're small, in time they'll be practically unnoticeable to everyone but him. They're worse on his back and left shoulder, but I sure as hell won't tell him that. There's no need, they'll be gone or nearly gone, soon.

The plastic surgeon was practically cumming in his pants when he assured me that he will be able to significantly reduce or practically erase the physical damage done by the fucking fiddler. The surgeries will start in a month and then continue as needed, with six to ten months between procedures.

I reach over and run my finger tips down his chest. He flinches but doesn't stop me or pull away.

One caress leads to another, and another. I claim a trophy; I grab his left nipple with my lips, then lick it and suck on it. _Salty and sweet, just the way I like them._

He's watching me closely and I guess since I'm not jumping around and squealing in fear, he lowers his guard further. He scoots over to me and lies flat, giving me full access to his body. _He's so beautiful._

I can't help myself; I take this opportunity to teach him a little lesson about beauty, both inside and out. I just hope it doesn't backfire on me. I stop feasting on his hot, little body and I hold up my cast, "Are you going to not want me because of my scar? It's going to be ugly and big, and unlike your scars, it won't be fixable. When they take off the cast, my hand is going to be scrawny, pasty and weak for awhile. Is that going to embarrass you?"

He genuinely looks shocked, "God Brian! No, are you insane? I could never, EVER NOT… How… how…" He sputters to a stop and the introspective look on his face tells me that I was victorious in my little lesson.

I resume kissing, nibbling, and licking his satiny-soft skin. _Who needs food when I can munch on Justin's belly?_

Then, it's his time to shock me. "Would you… could you promise not…" He stops himself short.

I interrupt my tongue's progression to his cock and ask him, "Promise what, Justin?"

"Don't throw me out when we finish tonight. I mean, not right away… Please?"

I huff out a chuckle, "Do you have any idea... " I stop talking, then roll my lips into my mouth and clamp down on them. I don't want to blurt out anything that I'm not ready to admit. After a moment's pause, I'm able to speak again. "I promise to not throw you out or off of anything, if you promise the same. Okay?"

Justin smiles softly and quietly responds, "I promise."

We work deep into the night until we're mutually satisfied with our progress. I call it fucking; he calls it lovemaking… whatever.

* * *

><p>Justin is sleeping and I'm searching through his backpack for answers to my many, unspoken questions.<p>

I'm finding crap in it that makes my blood boil. There's letters and flyers from some fucking church, taunting him, telling him that he's a sinner and God is punishing him for being a fag.

There's are bundle of torn paper, and upon closer inspection, they seem to be remnants of a love letter of sorts. The writer sounds like a whack job.

_Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on? Why didn't Jennifer tell me? She didn't tell me because she doesn't know. He's been hiding this from her. _

The one discovery that drops my heart to the floor is the newspaper clippings for apartment rentals in New York City. He's circled and crossed out some ads. I find other clippings for Chicago and Boston.

My boy is ready to bolt and I don't blame him.

_Now what do I do? _


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for reading and all kind comments are appreciated. **

**Take note that this chapter takes place 6 months later.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Nine<span> **

_**Brian Kinney's POV (All)**_

_**[Six Months Later]**_

"Brian, what are you doing here so early?"

"Hey, Deb. I could really use a cup of some crappy coffee."

I unload my briefcase and coat into the seat next to me and quickly do a visual sweep of my surroundings. _No interesting cock-suckers on the premises. That's okay; I'm in a hurry, anyway. _

I take my seat and greet Deb with a patient smile as she approaches with the coffee pot.

"Honey, you need to slow down. You're going to kill yourself if you keep going at this rate." Debbie is always 'on' and has boundless energy, even at six-fucking-forty-five in the morning. It's very annoying. She levels one of her famous stares at me, but as always, I pretend that it has no effect on me.

I wisecrack back, "Yes Mom" and then check my watch for the time. I have to leave no later than seven fifteen, or I'll miss my flight.

Debbie continues her nagging litany as she pours me a cup. "You're burning the candle at both ends and you're going to make yourself sick. I'm going to put in an order of your usual; you aren't leaving here before you eat it!"

"Well, actually, I thought I catch something at the airport, but maybe I've got-"

"Airport?"

"Yep, you know - planes, luggage, travelers, TSA intimate encounters? _Hey_ - that's an idea. I should swing by there when the tricks are trolls at Babylon." I smugly smile to myself, enjoying my own witty repartee.

Deb looks like she wants to smack me. I ignore her scowl and pull out my Blackberry and start checking my emails. There's one from Cynthia reminding me to pick up lemon bars.

"You got _another_ business trip?" Deb slides into the seat across from me. She's making herself comfortable – that's not a good sign. It means she wants to talk. _Shit._

"Yep, Vance and I have decided to continue our expansion beyond the seedy splendor of the Pitts. Punch the clouds; see what falls from them."

"Well you need to slow down and take care of yourself! Hey, you're going to miss Moby's Big Dick night at Babylon tonight!"

"I've seen Moby's dick and it's not that big."

Deb over-enthusiastically laughs in response to my lame retort – that should have been my first warning. The second warning was the insipid smile, folded hands, and attempted coy expression. Unfortunately, I didn't pay attention to the signs and I was blind-sided.

"I called Jen and she wouldn't say squat about Justin. Have you heard anything, yet? We need to-"

I cut her off immediately, "Stop – now. I mean it Deb." I hear a soft roar in my ears as my blood pressure zooms to DEFCON Level 3. This subject is off-limits for discussion and that applies to everyone - especially Debbie.

She nods an apology. But of course, doesn't give up. "Do you and her talk?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to five. _Mother Taylor… Mother Taylor… Mother Taylor… Have I talked to her lately… No, the question is, Deb, what did she tell you? _But, I don't want to say that to Deb, because I don't want to have this conversation or any conversation like this.

"Deb… Wherever Justin has gone… we need to respect that. You need to let go, I have. Don't you remember our little conversation, oh so many moons ago? 'If you love him, let him go?' Let him go, Deb. It's what he wants…"

Things became unbearable for Justin and his personal safety was a major concern. The situation became absurd. It seemed every time we fought off one whacko, another one would pop up into the picture. He was more worried for the safety of the family. He fretted continually, afraid that these assholes would lash out at the family if they couldn't get to him. He wasn't being allowed to mend and live his life.

The judicial system lived up to its inferior standards and the fiddler got off lightly. Fucking Ian agreed to a deal with the D.A. and only received five years in jail time, but here's the real ball squeezer – he could be paroled in fourteen months on good behavior. We were told that the only reason the fiddler got any jail time was because he tried to cover up the crime and dispose of a presumed dead body. To say I was pissed was an understated.

Justin made some monumental decisions that deeply affected his life. I didn't realize how much his decisions would affect my life, but surprisingly, they did. I vowed to respect his decisions and do what was necessary to help support these decisions.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do, you little asshole! He's just a baby, out in the world – alone! I care about him and I just want to know that he's alright. He sent me a card and I want to talk to him, and let him know that I love him - nobody knows where he is. Dammit – why, won't Jen talk? What the hell am I suppose to do? I wouldn't tell anyone where he was! Damn it all… he's this bright light that attracts all kinds of people…people who try to grab and snuff it out, 'cos they get jealous or– "

She's gone too far and I cut her off before she can do more damage to my psyche.

"DAMMIT, DEB! Let it go! You're like a pit bull with a bone. He doesn't want people to know! Period! Okay? He left and she's not going to tell anyone. She's looking out for his safety. Just… just…get me some fresh coffee, this is for shit - and get off my back."

I'm literally saved by the bell. Horvath sets off the hanging door bell as he enters the diner. In the wink of an eye, Deb's focus switches to Carl. She looks like Michael when he's reading a comic book. Her eyes are like piercing lasers and her face reflects a mixture of ecstasy and awe.

She stands up doing a wiggly thing, it kind of reminds me of a lap-dance motion that this trick once performed on me. But, he did it a lot better – tons better. I actually wince while I watch her attempt to seductively sashay over to Carl.

_Please stop… please. I can't believe she's doing that. _

They start to twist and rub against each other like mating worms. Their offensive, heterosexual pre-mating display is sickening enough, but then they add banal, baby-talk-type gibberish to the mix.

I am so completely repulsed by the spectacle that I'm forced to perform a public service on behalf of all law-abiding homos, everywhere. "_**JESUS CHRIST! **_**Knock that shit off!** People are trying to eat here, you know!"

They glance my way but continue to slurp and slop on each other. _Debbie – goddam, if you're that hungry, eat some food!_

I try to ignore them by getting back to my Blackberry.

After what seems like an eternity, Debbie breaks away and heads for the kitchen pick-up window. Surprisingly, Carl doesn't go to the counter as he normally does; instead, he saunters over to me.

He covertly places a folded up newspaper down beside me and then taps it. "Did you see this?"

_Now what?_ I shake my head 'no' and tell him that I haven't gotten today's paper.

He unabashedly smiles at me and in a lowered, guarded voice he says, "I don't think we have to worry about someone not having enough companionship in jail. It looks like he's making friends all on his own."

Horvath taps on the newspaper again, says "Keep it." He casually walks away and settles at the diner's counter.

I pick up the newspaper and a title of an article jumps out at me, 'Prisoner's Attorney Files Official Complaint - Assaults Cited.' I read down further and see the name 'Ethan Gold.' I know my smile surpasses Horvath's. I tuck the paper into my brief case. _I'll enjoy reading that on the plane._

"Morning all!"

Emmett prances into the diner, strikes a pose, spots me and practically skips over to my booth. He ignores my pained grimace and unwelcoming rude sneer and happily slides into the seat across from me.

Emmett cocks his head to the side and flashes me one of his happy, tooth gapped, jack-o-lantern smiles. "Pray tell why is the ogre out and about so early, terrorizing the country side?"

I snarl back at him, "Some of us have a real job, Emmett, with real responsibilities." For emphasis, I flex out my arm, flash him my Blackberry. I attempt to ignore him and get back to checking my email.

"Yes, I guess you do. So many bars to keep in business – so many designers to support."

"Fuck off, Honeycutt."

"Don't call me Honeycutt-"

"Shut the fuck up or leave my booth." I glare at him and then make a show of snubbing him by partially turning away from him.

Deb's timing is perfect, she shows up before Emmett can fire off his next smart ass retort. "Hey sweetie! I'll get your order in just a minute. Here baby." She greets Emmett while serving me my breakfast and a fresh cup of coffee. "Now eat up, don't piss me off."

I catch her attention before she leaves and quietly ask her for a favor. "Hey Deb, would you pack me up a few lemon bars? For the road?"

Debbie's expression softens, and her eyes become warm and gentle. Her smile reminds me of Michael. As he grows older, they are starting to look more alike to me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

She reaches over and caresses my face. "Sure, honey. I was going to anyway. You tend to ask for them when you travel. I was going to surprise you."

I lean into her hand and give her a look that I hope says what I can't. Her smile widens; she pats my cheek before walking away. Deb loves it when I do or say anything remotely vulnerable. If she can't smother someone, she's not happy. At this moment, I'm happy to play into her, especially if it will get her mind off of Justin.

"Sooooo." Emmett elongates the word to get my attention, which for some inexplicable reason, it instantly annoys me.

"What Emmy Lou?"

"How are things?"

I glance at my watch again and then blurt out, "Peachy. Where the hell is Lindsay? She's supposed to bring Gus and meet me this morning. I have just enough time to eat, see my kid, and make it to the airport."

I start multi-tasking; I read my Blackberry, ignore Emmett, and eat breakfast.

Emmett prattles on for a few minutes but then breaks through my reflector shield by waving his hand in my face, "Where are you flying to?"

I flippantly respond, "'Chicken in the car, and the car won't go – that's how you spell, Chicago.'"

I drain my coffee cup and then bang it on its saucer, "Hey Deb. I need a refill."

She shouts back at me, "Hold your dick! I'll be right there."

The diner's door flies open and Lindsay bursts in. She looks like she just mugged a discount mall. She's pushing Gus in his stroller, while struggling with many large, lesbian, carry-all bags that are overstuffed and practically spilling all contents. She's talking a mile a minute.

"Sorry, sorry! Mel needed me to drop her off at work, her cars in the shop, and the water heater wasn't working, so I had to call the company before I left –"

While Emmett and I help her unload and settle into the booth, Debbie shrieks a greeting and comes over. She slings a "Hi honey!" at Linds while she zeroes in on Gus.

"How's my big boy?" Debbie starts one of her annoying baby chants, which Gus seems to appreciate. New customers shout for her attention, so she reluctantly releases him to my arms. Emmett has wandered off somewhere and Lindsay and I take the relatively private moment – this is as good as it's going to get – to talk.

I remember the real reason for our little get-together. So, I pull out my wallet, find a check I've written for her, and hand it to her.

"Thanks Brian, it's been really difficult lately with house repairs and –"

I wave her silent with my hand. I look down at my Sonny Boy and ruffle his hair. He looks good, and that's why I give her money, to keep him looking happy and healthy.

Lindsay had wanted to meet me at the loft, but I quickly nixed that idea. At this point in time, sharing private spaces with Lindsay is not a wise decision.

I believe she's back to using her "cock-seeking" eye. The very thought makes my nads shrivel.

It's my guess that she and smelly Mel are having problems again. But, I really don't care or want to know. I mean, I care…but just don't want to hear it or get involved. Because when I do get involved, she leans heavily, and then it's hard times while I try to scrape her off.

Her leaning has been known to turn into other things. At times when she's has problems with Mel, she has sought out men for relief – well, whatever floats her boat. However, I am not -nor will I ever be - the answer to any of her problems or fantasies. My boat moors at another kind of dock.

My cock is for homos only: no lesbians, bi-lesbians-Lindsay-types, or straight woman are allowed on this ride. I've added transgendered female-to-males to the list, because many of them leave on bits and pieces after the operation, which don't adhere to my strict standards.

Lindsay has been known to test my boundaries in the past and it seems like she's trying now. I know the signs too well. Her hands will accidently brush over certain men-only zones on my body; her lips linger too long in friendly kisses, she becomes overly affectionate… a shiver of revulsion runs through my body in recollection or prior experiences.

I hear Debbie being called to pick up an order and the diner's door opens to a hoard of hungry homos.

Lindsay pulls my attention back, "Brian, you should come by the gallery soon. Sydney was in Michigan recently, and he was invited to attend a showing at an artist colony. It's not just _any_ artist colony; it's supposedly the home of some very reclusive and famous artists. You have to be invited into the colony, to live or _visit_! I've always dreamed of living in a place like that. I fantasized that I would first take New York City by storm and then settle in an exclusive, artist colony, just like that one."

I just patiently smiled back her and surreptitiously check my watch, I have to leave very shortly. I admire my son's face and smell his hair. _These memories will have to hold me until I see him next._

She continues her nattering, which I ignore, until she says something really irksome. "He brought back some amazing pieces. There's one piece in particular that looks…it's signed with a lightning bolt symbol, but I swear…The piece reminds me of Justin's work. I swear, I know it's not his work, but it has –"

"Linds… stop… don't."

"Do you ever hear from him?"

I let out a loud, exasperated sigh, "Dammit, Linds! He's gone, okay? He _left_ and has started to new life somewhere and he doesn't want any contact from anyone. Hell, from the few things that Jen has said to people – it sounds like he's not even in the country! Take a hint, he doesn't want us. He wants a new life, a new start…Damn, twice in one morning. Deb and now you – what's going on? Why does everyone have Justin-on-the-brain-itis, all of a sudden?"

"It's his birthday tomorrow."

I instantly stop reading my email and jiggling Gus on my knee. I slowly look at her. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. I pull away from her and put away my Blackberry. I get up and place Gus into his stroller.

"I've got to go. I've got a plane to catch."

"Brian, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to upset you! When you get back, why don't I come over and I'll cook us a nice dinner, and we can drink some wine and just talk? It will be just you and me."

_Oooooh, I don't think so._

"Sorry's bullshit, Linds. You know that." I flash a forgiving smirk, "Just drop it. Leave it alone. Maybe he's happy now, have you ever thought of that? I…maybe he's finally happy…maybe he's safe and settled and finally…maybe life is good for him. Why would you want to mess that up for him? What do you want to do - track him down, tear open his life so that YOU will feel good better about yourself?"

Lindsay responds with what looks like a heartfelt, "No, no! Of course not! I guess…I guess I just didn't think it through…I didn't think of that."

I roll my lips into my mouth to stop a rude remark from flying out of my mouth. After a calming, deep breath, I reiterate my point, "If you really care about him, then drop it… leave… him… alone… If he wants us… or needs us… he knows where we are. Right?"

Lindsay reluctantly nods her head in response.

_Good, because you are starting to piss me off, Linds. In more ways than one._

I drop enough money on the table to cover all our meals and a very nice tip for Deb. Then grab my briefcase and coat.

"See ya, Sonny Boy; be good for your Mommy." I lean down and give my son a kiss on the head. I nod to Deb and Carl, who have re-welded themselves together at the counter. As I turn to leave, I throw over my shoulder, "See ya, Linds. I'll stop by and see Sonny Boy when I get back."

I'm parked a block down from the diner and just as I'm reaching my jeep, I hear Emmett calling my name.

_Shit, now what?_

"Brian! Oh, Brian! Goodness! You left without your lemon bars." He reaches me and stops at a skid and nearly smashes the pastry box on my chest.

"Em, dammit, you almost…! Fine, fine! Thanks."

I grab the box and leave him standing on the sidewalk. I walk around the jeep and climb into the driver's side. I'm in the process of getting myself situated, when I hear the passenger door open_. _

Emmett leans into my jeep and smiling like a Barbie doll, he says, "I never knew you liked lemon bars."

_What the fuck?_

"Yeah, so?"

"I just never knew that."

I fix Emmett with a stare that makes him fidget. Hopefully that one look will shut him up and make him close the door. Unfortunately, it doesn't.

"Brian-"

"WHAT, Emmett? What? I've got a plane to catch!"

He presses his lips together and then shakes his head and says, "Never mind."

I stick my tongue in my cheek, and count to five. _Why am I even making an effort here?_

"Listen, Emmett. I know tomorrow is Sunshine's… Justin's birthday. Lindsay and Deb just reminded me. Look… there's nothing that I can do about that. I can't stop the Earth from turning, turn water into wine, or… stop it from being his birthday. Emmett, if he wanted to be here, I think he would be here. But he's not. End of story."

Emmett expression is sullen and withdrawn. He looks out over the traffic.

I don't know why, but it bothers me he that he's upset. I normally don't give a damn. But, instead of shoving him out the door, I want to appease him, so I think of something that will cheer him up. "Hey, isn't it Ben's birthday, too? What's going on with that? Are you planning the party? You…you do that well."

Emmett actually looks flustered in response to my praise and questions. "No. No…I ah…Ben is cooking a vegan feast…I forgot what time I'm suppose to arrive…I forgot what Michael said. I'll have to call him… I just never… I never thought you would let go… of him."

"I gotta go, Emmett. Have a good time there. Now get out."

His face reflects his disappointment and sadness, but now I don't care. I start the jeep and immediately pull away from the curb after he closes the door. I make a point to not look back at him. I found the whole conversation too unnerving.

Luckily, after surviving the family's obstacle course of best intentions, the rest of my day goes smoothly. I have two business trips today; my first is in Chicago, Illinois.

My plane is on time and my lunch meeting with the potential client, Ayers Group, goes very, very well. I have a signed contract in my briefcase when I leave the table. I call Cynthia and tell her to spread the good news.

I grab a cab to the airport and barely make my next flight. Once on board, I attempt to make the most of the hour and a half ride and try to relax and unwind. Double stacking different client meetings into one week has become a common occurrence for me, but not in one day. _I just hope I'm not too tired to give my Brian 'Fucking' Kinney best tonight._ I laugh to myself at the absurd idea.

My plan arrives on time. I pick up my rental car and set out on my last leg on my journey.

The drive is a pleasant one. I check my watch; I'll be arriving right on time.

I pull into the parking lot, grab my things, and head out. As I walk past a little French café, I quickly glance at the menu; it looks like it may be a good option for dinner.

I pick up my pace; I want to get to a certain little shop before it closes. I had previously bought Gus some wooden puzzles, that when assembled, became standing dinosaur figures. I want to grab a few more for Sonny Boy. He just loves them.

The shop is a catch-all type of establishment that sells area crafts, art supplies, and art on commission. It's also the only frame store in the area. Apparently, the owner-manager is able to make a nice little living.

As I enter the shop, I can hear a little bell tinkling in the back room. I hear a man's voice call out, "I'll be right with you!"

I check out the children's toy section of the shop. I spy the wooden dinosaur puzzles and feel quite pleased. _Good, I'll get a couple more for Gus._

I hear a man's voice approaching the flimsy curtains that barely hides the entrance to the back of the shop. "I'm coming! Thanks for your patience. I was in the middle of something."

The man appears suddenly, "Hello! How can I help you?"

He's not what I was expecting. He has long, shaggy hair that reaches to his shoulders and a full, neatly trimmed beard. He's wearing a lumberjack-style shirt, faded jeans, and mountain boots. Wooly lumberjacks can be a real turn on, especially if they've got a hot face, big cock, and tight ass. I do a quick appraisal and smile to myself. _He fills all the criteria._

_He's hot. Real hot. Stunning, actually._

He's a complex, fascinating mixture of boy and man. Though he seemingly appears rugged and woodsy, a certain innocence and gentleness show through the scruff. He's young but has a natural sophisticated demeanor. I feel my fatigue change to heat, want, and need. My cock responds to the visual stimuli and it begins to thicken and lift in greeting. _My fucking mouth is actually watering. _

The man has frozen in mid-movement. He looks shocked but then he slowly smiles. His smile lights up the room.

_Oh yeah… my own lumberjack twink._

_**[Epilogue and final character coming soon!]**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**This chapter has not been beta-ed. My sincere apologizes. Thanks for reading and I hope you'll be kind enough to leave a comment.**_

_**One more chapter to go after this one.**_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 10 <span>**

_**Brian Kinney's POV**_

"Are you the proprietor of this fine establishment? I have come from far, far way. I have passed through great cities and traversed over the treacherous back woods of Michigan – which are teaming with scary, tofu-loving artists - to purchase from you, little, hot lumberjack, more wooden dinosaur puzzles for my squirt-in-a-cup offspring."

The bearded, lumberjack twink practically flies over to me, grabs me around my waist, and almost knocks me on the floor.

He bounces up and down on his toes and shrilly shrieks, "You're here! You're here! You said you weren't coming until Saturday. Does this mean that you're here until Monday or do you have to go back earlier? Say Monday! Say Monday!"

I cover my ears to protect them from the shrieking, and have to shout to be heard. "Yes! I'm here until Monday! Now stop fucking yelling!"

He laughs and sways from side to side, holding onto me for balance. I pull him against me and give him a strong hug. When I loosen my grip, he stays plastered to me, burying his face in my chest. Whiffs of cedar, sun, fresh sweat, and oil paints swirl around him – it's intoxicating.

I gently lift his head and see the awesome sight that is forever lurking in my mind. It's bright as sunshine and its warmth touches the darkest parts of my soul. His smile is far more stunning in person, far exceeding my memory and any picture that I have of him. His blue eyes mirror all of his emotions, and they are now happy and sparkling. But, it's his mouth… oh, what a mouth… that I've been craving. During the long ride here, I've been thinking of all the wonderful things that it can do.

His plump, pink lips are glistening after a quick flick of his tongue. The lips are set in a natural pout, nestled in a bed of blond whiskers. _God, he's so beautiful._

I lean in to kiss him and the little shit moves his face so that I can't make contact. "Um, sorry, I do have partner and I only kiss him… _**sir**_."

He wants to play, but I'm not interested. It's been a long day and I want my reward, or should I say - rewards. I whisper back, "He says it's okay." My lips attack his like hunger cannibals and I moan with pleasure the instant my brain registers the taste of his mouth.

"_**Awwww! Mother fucker!**__" _I pull back from the bearded, lumberjack twink shouting out in genuine pain. I grab my face trying to assess the damage. It feels like I was just impaled on a bed of nails!

"_What!_ Brian, what! What's the matter?"

"_Your beard!_ Damn, it may look hot as hell but it's a fucking dangerous. It's like kissing a hair brush! Jesus fucking Christ. Am I bleeding?"

He tries to touch my face but I give him a little push to get him away from me. He tempers his reaction and keeps his emotions in check. Instead, he chews on his thumbnail, which is a very enduring habit of his, and looks appropriately contrite. "Well… I just trimmed it and that's probably why it's ruff. I didn't put any conditioner on it… sorry."

Though the pain of the near-fatal beard attack is still with me, I decide to take the high road and forgive the little twerp. I magnanimously make light of the moment.

"… Nearly fucking ripped my face off, you little shit. I may have to see a dermatologist. Hell, what the… I thought that the beard – though it's hot - was just a 'look' you were trying on. I didn't realize you were feeding it and keeping it as a pet… or partner deterrent…"

From the twink's long face, I can tell that maybe I wasn't completely successful at 'making light' of the situation.

I can hear the whine in his voice, as the lumberjack twink punts the caring and concerned approach, and feebly strikes back at me. "Stop being such a baby! I didn't do it on purpose! I had no idea that it was rough. I was going to shave before you got here on Saturday."

Again, he tries to touch my face and again, I pull my head away. I'm still stubble-shy. "No, don't touch it! And no kissing until that shit is shaved off… though, it is hot… It's like a Brillo pad – I have meetings next week and I don't want my face to like hamburger meat… It wasn't that coarse when it was shorter."

He's a tenacious little fuck. He tentatively approaches me; each movement is measured and slowed so that he won't spook me. He's watching for my response and when I don't push him away, he slowly puts his arms around my waist. He again braces for a negative reaction but he doesn't receive one. His smell has re-captured my interest, so I decide that he can stay close.

He becomes braver and wiggles even closer to me, as if he's trying to graft himself on me. I stay stoic… I'm actually enjoying his attempt to apologize and hope he will go further with it – much, much further.

He pulls out his trump card – and it's quite an ace – it's his infamous twink charm. It starts with the batting of his big, baby blues at me. The next step is the shy but sassy smile. His lips seem to puff up into little pouty pillows. My stomach starts to do flip-flops. He bites his lower lip and slowly pulls it out from between the teeth. The lip pops back into view, all shiny and wet. He pushes his cock into mine – and now I think I've gone blind. I'm also going deaf – the roar of blood rushing down to my cock is making it difficult to hear what he is saying.

"I'm really sorry." He slowly rubs his dick up and down against mine. "If I had known that you were going to arrive today, I would have shaved. I haven't bother to make it soft, because… well, why should I? You're not here and I only kiss you. I'm ah… I'm _sure_… that I can make it up to you… somehow."

_I am Brian Fucking Kinney… his twink charms have no effect on me. _

Unfortunately, my half-erect cock - which is poking him in the stomach right now – seems to not want to be a team player; it has its own agenda. Therefore, I rethink my strategy. _No reason to continue the cold shoulder bit… he is now apologizing in a manner that I prefer. _"Well… since you seem sincere… I can think of a thing or two - maybe four – things that you could do to make it up to me. BUT, only after we remove the barbwire from your face."

The twink rolls his eyes, lets out an exasperated breath, and slightly slumps against me. "Fine -whatever!"

An idea pops in my head that I think will be mutually enjoyable for both of us. I rest my forehead on his and he responses immediately with a little smile. I slowly wedge my thigh between his legs and adjust it until I can feel the heat of his crouch. He instantly starts to rock up and down on my thigh.

I don't bother hiding the lust in my voice as I share my plan with him. "I've got an idea… I'll shave you… I'll be your personal barber. We'll have lots of fun… lots and lots of fun. I solemnly promise."

The little twink continues to grind on my thigh and makes a little moaning sound. My dick is jumping like a gymnast. My pants are now too constricting.

We rut against each other, foreheads together, breathing in each other's breath. I feel like we're enclosed in our own private air bubble.

_I love the fact that he's so easy to please. He shouldn't be this easy… he should make me work for it more… then again - here I am… every three or four weeks, I haul it to Michigan. _

My dick is so full that it's starting to throb. I practically growl in his ear, "Let's go upstairs and I'll be your own personal Sweeney Todd."

He slightly pulls away and looks at me in disbelief and confusion. His face twists into a swirl of hurt and anger. He gets off my leg and takes a few steps away from me. I'm totally stumped by his behavior. "What? What's wrong?"

He looks like he's analyzing my face, looking for answers to an unspoken question. His clenched jaw tells me that he's not pleased – but I don't fucking know why he's upset.

He stands in front of me, with a stiff, straight back and begins to speak to me with a crisp, sharp voice. _I hate it when he does this; it never means good things for me._

"Sweeny Todd… killed his clients and then sold their remains in meat pies… I can't fucking believe that you said that. Should I take this as a warning? I've had enough of men with knives, thank you very much." The little shit thrusts his chin up in the air and walks away, muttering crap under his breath that I can't, and probably wouldn't want, to hear.

I'm flabbergasted. _How the hell did he – oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh… right. Come on, Sunshine! DO YOU FUCKING THINK I WOULD EVER FUCKING ATTACK YOU! AARRGGGHH! He can't possibly believe that I would 'go Ian' on his ass. _

He's still an emotional landmine. I try to be careful of what I say and how I say it. But, inevitably, I will unknowingly misstep and then have to endure another emotional explosion. But, it's getting better, much better.

"Hey. HEY! What the fuck, Sunshine! I didn't mean I was going to slice and dice you and serve you to the breeders. I was… _**fucking Johnny Depp**_! You love Johnny Depp! That's what I fucking meant. I was going to shave you and fuck you, liking a fucking Johnny Depp… would. But better than Johnny Depp, he has a small dick… "

He throws a pen at me and shouts, "Then why didn't you say that?"

Our conversation rages on while I watch him close up shop. Or, more correctly, the little princess has a tantrum and I suck it up and let him rant. Worse yet, he tells me the entire history of Sweeney Todd and how the play was based on an actual serial killer. Then he psycho-analyzes me, telling me how I have to be severely mentally warped if I actually thought there was anything remotely romantic about the play or the character.

_Sweet Jesus, why did you invent beautiful twinks with brains? Not a good combination._

I'm almost worn out from his lecture and lamely try to save face one last time. "Johnny fucking Depp – **I fucking meant Johnny Depp** – you think he's hot. That's all it was, that's what I meant. Can we pleeeassseee drop this? FUCK IT! Just… we've wasted fifteen minutes with arguing, when we could be fucking. 'Waste not, want not.'" The princess scowls at me and starts slamming around boxes behind the main counter.

_Why do I even try? _I sit on a display table where I've placed my briefcase and the other items that I brought with me. I'm tired and frustrated; currently, nothing remotely resembles my reunion fantasies. Then, I see my salvation in the form of a white, pastry box. I blast out a cab-stopping whistle to get the little shit's attention. I hold up the box of lemon bars and twirl it. Like a Pavlovian test dog, he reacts immediately. He stops dead in his tracks and his eyes latch onto the box.

I smile to myself, so glad to have the scales balanced back in my favor. "I have carried these damn things over eight hundred miles, two plane rides, and into the dangerous woods of Michigan. There's hungry, vegetarian, kwazy wezbians out there in 'them thar woods'. If they had caught me, they would have torn me limb from limb just to get these things. From Debbie's heart to yours – it's her finest artery clogging lemon bars."

He cocks his head, juts his chin in the air and slowly sashays over to me. He snatches the box away from me so fast that I take inventory on my fingers, making sure I still have them all. As he exams the exterior of the box, he begrudgingly addresses me. "How is it that you are able to amuse, arouse, and infuriate me all in a matter of minutes?"

I proudly puff out my chest and smugly reply, "Yet another testimony of the rare and special talents of Brian Fucking Kinney. You're welcome, Sunshine."

The blond slightly shakes his head and exhales in exasperation. Then, with his dainty, elegant hands, he opens the box. When he sees the treats - he squeals like a hamster. He grabs a bar and unceremoniously shoves half of it into his whiskered pie hole.

After a few moments of chewing and moaning, the little shit remembers his manners. "These are sooooo good! Thank you, Brian! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was soooo hoping that you might bring me some on Saturday. Wow, there's like – at least a dozen if not more in the box!"

"Yeah, well try to make them last as long as you can, I don't know if I'll be bringing any the next time I come. Emmett may be onto me."

He finishes the bar and makes a show of licking his fingers. He does his little bounce-in-place thing and giggles. The little lumberjack packs up the treats, grabs my hand and pulls me off the table. I gather up my stuff and follow him into the back of the shop. I wait while he locks the back door and sets the alarm.

As we head up the stairs to the apartment, I decide to have some fun and also get back a pound of my pride. I generously give him a helping hand up the stairs. Translated - that means I pinch and goose him as he walks up the stairs. I thoroughly enjoy listening to his yelps and threats as he tries to evade and fend me off.

I can't help myself. Justin's got the best ass ever bestowed on a twink or any gay man, for that matter. I watch it bounce and jiggle and enjoy every minute of it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for reading, comments are very appreciated. Sorry, but this chapter has not been beta-ed. I lost my beta during the creation of Chapter 10. I thank you for your patience.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11 (<em>NEW<em>):**

_**Brian Kinney's POV**_

I take a look around the apartment, re-accustoming myself to the place. The kitchen, living room, and dining area are all in one space. The bed is on a platform, tucked into a large alcove and hidden behind curtains. There's a small hallway that leads to the bathroom, a storage room, and the balcony that has been converted into his studio. It's small, but functional. We'll probably expand on it.

I consider this apartment as his. It's decorated in young-gay-artist style, with all the eclectic uniqueness that is Justin. The deed for the building is in both our names. As business partners, I hold the mortgage and he puts in sweat equity. He balances painting with the running the shop, and does an incredible job of doing both. I told him that he can take revenge on me at anytime and throw me out of the apartment, since he has controlling interest in the shop. I thought he would have a laugh, but instead, I got tears. My Sonny Boy doesn't look at things the same way I do. He did smile when I told him that I would strive to be a good partner and not push him to that limit, especially when I want to gain access into his ass.

Justin's paintings are selling and he's making important connections in the art world. He is thriving and healing – exactly what I hoped would happen. As for me, I am re-assessing my career goals and I am determined to have my own ad business within two years. I will succeed. I have to – I have a lot of mouths to feed.

I'm not just a visitor to the apartment, I have installed certain necessities that I require. It now has a surround-sound digital audio system, a flat screen television, a stocked bar, and a king-size bed. _For goodness sakes, we are not animals or lesbians - we're civilized, gay men who require certain accoutrements. _

Then I see it - the bane of my decorating sensibilities. I hold it in high contempt and rarely hide my disdain when I'm in its presence.

_That fucking couch…_

It's a putrid green in color, the design is circa 1960's, and the material is rough, itchy, and has that knotty texture that is brutally rough on a bare ass. Justin won't tell me where he got it, but I can make a good guess. He said he bought it from a reputable store and it's practically brand new. I would bet good money that he either got it at a Goodwill store or curbside, in some rundown trailer park. I have to constantly spray it with fabric freshener and Lysol, and then cover it with multiple sheets before I can sit on it.

I tried to rid us of the hideous thing by not-so-accidently spilling red wine on it. Unfortunately, Justin won't budge on chucking it. I seriously think that he believes that it is a sentient being and has feelings. He even strokes it and talks to it in front of me, just to piss me off.

Now the piece-of-shit monstrosity sits there, mocking me with its huge, purplish, wine stain.

Justin yells from the kitchen, "Stop it! Stop planning your next assassination attempt on the couch!" He knows me so well. At the very moment that he yelled, I was trying to figure out how to 'accidently' set it on fire without damaging the rest of the loft.

He shouts out a bribe, hoping to distract me. It works. "If you stop your plan to annihilate the couch, I'll let you shave me right now. But only the face!"

I respond with a grunt and wry smirk. As I unpack my things and change into jeans and a wife beater. Justin pulls together wine, glasses, and shaving necessities.

I glance at the bed and smile when I see the mirror squares that are mounted above it. They were already installed when we bought the place and for shits and grins, we thought we would enjoy them for awhile before we took them down. We've now decided to keep them and whoever installed them has my respect. There's nothing like watching Justin ride my dick from the unique angle that the mirror provides. It enhances our already incredible fucks. I'm getting hard just thinking about seeing Justin reflected in them.

We adjourn to the restroom. Justin sits on the toilet seat, removes his shirt, closes his eyes, and patiently endures the process of having me trim away the lengthy portions of his beard. I take this opportunity to secretly check on the progress of his last plastic surgery procedure.

_His scars look good._ They are vastly improved. The smallest scars seemed to have disappeared and the appearances of the major scars are greatly improved. The plastic surgeon is a genius and charges a fortune, but my boy is worth it. Justin's anxiety has greatly diminished and he doesn't search for signs of disgust from me like he originally did. No matter what that piece-of-shit fiddler did, Justin's skin and body are and will always be beautiful to me. Always.

I have been distracted by my thoughts and Justin takes full advantage of it. Before I can stop him, he deftly unzips my jeans, grabs my dick and pops the head into his mouth.

_Ahhhhh… fuck me…. Damn, that so good… no, not yet, Sonny Boy._

I pull my dick out of his mouth and gently scold him. "Hey, hey, hey! No candy until we finish our chores… BEARD! Watch the beard." Some of his beard rubbed against my cock and it wasn't pleasant. I get my family jewels safely tucked back into their display box, and am treated to an excellent example of a pouting twat. His lower lip is jutted out, arms are crossed, and his chin is tilted in defiance. I have to fight the urge to grab him and fuck him in the sink.

Instead, I ignore his posturing and continue with my task. I'm really enjoying myself, it's like unwrapping a present. I clip away and blithely listen to him as he recounts his day and fills me in on all the colony gossip.

The colony, formally known as Tall Cedars, is an exclusive haven for reclusive artists who work in every imaginable medium. The members are some of the crème-de-la-crème of the art world and every artist or ambitious art dealer would love to brag that they have connections to the colony.

It was originally established in the 1960s. The membership list is a highly guarded secret and membership is by invitation, only. The grounds are protected by state-of-art security, rivaling Fort Knox. Many of the members have had their share of whack jobs or paparazzi and have poured a fortune into keeping themselves safe.

The colony has had its share of scandals, though, but pretty basic stuff - members fucking around with someone else's spouse or partner, drug overdoses, or stealing ideas from each other. The one scandal that has turned Justin into a super snoop has to do with Warhol. Andy Warhol was refused membership. Justin is sure that there must be a colossal reason for his rejection - beyond our imagination – like a threat to national security.

How Justin got to part of this elite faction of the art world is nothing short of a miracle. I firmly believe that if there is a God, then he finally – _finally_ – looked down, saw all the shit that my boy had been put through and decided to straighten out the mess.

Long story short, the painting that hangs behind my desk, one of Justin's finest pieces, caught the eye of one of my clients. That's nothing out of the ordinary; everyone notices it and loves it. I proudly showed it off and then took the client on a little tour of Justin's few other pieces that hang around the firm. I did share a few tidbits of Justin's life story, but left out his ordeals. Justin doesn't want his work to be thought of as survivor's therapy. I never thought anything of it and had no idea that my client was well connected to the art world.

Unbeknownst to me, my client raved about my boy at a party she attended in the Hamptons. The hostess of the party was the elegant and formidable Mrs. Georgia Jameson, who is wealthier than Croesus. She just so happens to be a major patron of the arts and is on the board of nearly every national art gallery. Her late husband was a major, MAJOR art dealer and real estate investor… and they were two of the founding members of Tall Cedars. Incidentally, her gay, beloved grandson was slain in an alley, outside a gay bar in New York City, in the early '90s. It made national news and I remember hearing about it. She is a contributor to many gay support charities.

Georgia, as I was ordered to call her, showed up at my office and demanded to see the phenomenal pieces that she heard so much about at her party. Apparently, she loves discovering new geniuses. Over a very enjoyable lunch, I shamelessly bragged about my boy. She shared stories of her grandson, her only grandson, and whom she worshipped. He was a talented artist and she knew that he would have eventually become highly acclaimed in the art world. His death still haunts her.

I told her about Justin's ordeals, though it wasn't necessary, she already knew. We both commented on how much they have in common. Then, I did something that I've never done before, especially with a stranger. I attribute it to effects of mixing wine with too many shots of Beam. Georgia nearly matched me drink-for-drink – she's a fellow Beamer. Anyway, I told her about my fear for Justin's health and well-being.

I didn't exaggerate when I shared with her all of Justin current struggles to heal. I told her about his not-so-secret plan to run away somewhere, possibly New York City. He didn't just want to flee for his own good, he believed that he should leave for the good others; perhaps then the reporters, religious nut jobs, and freaky stalkers would stop hounding the family. I knew he wasn't strong enough to handle the harshness of a big city, at least not at that time.

As I said before, a miracle happened and on that very day. Right there - in one of Pittsburgh's finest restaurant, over expensive food and too much booze - a new mother protector and art benefactor was born onto Justin Taylor.

When Georgia and Justin met the next day, I swear I heard angels singing. Within a week, my boy and I were on a plane heading for Michigan. We toured Tall Cedars, found this shop with the apartment on the top floor – and then started on a new chapter in both our lives.

Unfortunately, though we took care of one major issue, another one cropped up that I never saw coming. It had to do with loyalty. At the present time, Justin does not communicate with the family. He sends cards and gifts through a ghost service, which hides his identity. He was hurt and dismayed when he found out that several of the family had talked to reporters and stalkers (in all fairness, they had no idea that they were stalkers) about him and his ordeals. The family meant well, they thought they could use the press to Justin's advantage. But, of course, it backfired.

We had kept his plans a secret from everyone, except his mother, Horvath, and Daphne. Justin shut off all communications with everyone else right after he left for Tall Cedars. He was afraid that they would blab his location and in all honestly, I knew they probably would. They wouldn't be able to help themselves. To make things easier on everyone, I pretend to be one of the shunned. But, I know he'll be in contact with them, when he's ready. I don't push him.

It's quite an adjustment, jumping from chaos into calm. Sometimes, I feel like I'm waiting for the next shoe to drop. And, I have to admit that being this considerate and concerned really fucks with my self-image. My 'I-Am-Brian-Fucking-Kinney-The-Asshole' image is taking a beating from all of this caring and sharing crap. _I guess I'm just a fucking hero… who should have statues erected in my honor._ _Or have statues with erections… _

"Brian… Brian? What do you think? You've not been listening, have you? Hey… um, is everything okay? You look a little… um…"

"Huh? Oh, no, just today's meeting… and then some other shit. What were you saying?"

He kisses my stomach, and softly says, "I bet you're tired, aren't you? I can finish this-"

"Fuck no! I'm enjoying this… I feel like I'm preparing a sacrificial twink for my very own carnal feast… and on whom I will perform vile, debasing acts of perversion. Good times are just minutes away, Sonny Boy."

He giggles and I smile. I've trimmed off all the lengthy hair and now I prepare to shave him. While I warm the shaving cream, he talks about something that is a major concern for both of us - his appearance.

"I've decided to keep my natural hair color and let it grow longer."

_YES! There is a fucking god! I love his natural hair color and the length is so fucking hot! He could even grow it longer. _In the last six months, Justin has changed his appearance constantly, sometimes on a daily basis. He's shaved his head, dyed his hair nearly every color of the rainbow and tried numerous fashion styles. I didn't need a shrink to tell us that he's trying to hide from the world._ But, now… this all sounds promising… he's come a long way. I knew he would. He's so fucking brave, far more than me. _

"Maybe I'll wear it in a ponytail with an earring."

_Ohhh, yeah, I like that. Sort of like a pirate._

"It might be a cliché, though, another artist with a ponytail and earring and all."

"I think it will be fucking hot. I love the color and length." I slowly run my fingers through his hair, enjoying its silky texture and take a few moments to admire the various shades of blond that are mixed throughout it. I ignore his sly smile, and he's wise not to say anything about my obsession with his hair. _It's fucking beautiful. _

"Okay, I have to tell you something… don't get pissed… Joanna is having a little party thing tomorrow. Sort of like a surprise, but she's calling it a potluck, and I'm not suppose to know that it's a surprise, so I have to act surprised… Soooo, I have to go… would you please come with me? I want you to come so that I can show you off. I've brag about my classically handsome, brilliant partner to Maxie, and Joel and some others that have never meet you, and… please?" He looks at me in anticipation, but I just smirk and start to shave him without comment. But, I don't say 'no,' which he always translates to mean 'almost yes.'

He tentatively continues with his hard sell; the poor boy has no idea that I am already aware of his little faux surprise party. "Of course, most of the food will be vegetarian and vegan… but, I'll make a chicken or beef dish so that you'll have something to eat. And before you say 'no,' maybe I can make it worth your while… how about a blow job – right before we leave…?"

"Keep talking…"

He laughs and continues, "Okay, blow jobs before and after… deal?" I feel like a horse as I broadly nod my head. _Hey – they always have good pot at these potluck things._

He's literally bouncing on his butt and squealing with elation. Good thing my reflexes are faster than a bouncing twink or he would have a very bloody face right now.

"YES! I can't wait! You're the best… Ohhh, oh my god! I forgot to tell you… I have to tell you… about the puppy!"

_Oh shit…_

"I stopped by the shelter yesterday, and this sweet little puppy was brought in. This woman found it abandoned behind a fast food restaurant."

_Awwww, ain't that just so tweet – no fucking way… For the last three fucking weeks, you've been blabbering about some damn kitten that was thrown from a car on the highway._

"_He's so cute! _He's a mix-breed, Husky and something… and he's so snuggly…"

_You've been fucking prattling on and on about that fucking kitten for the last three weeks, ad nauseam –_

"I never had a pet, Mom didn't want the mess… dogs are so much work… but, I don't know, maybe I could try it… though cats are probably easier."

_You're getting the cat! You little shit! You've been mooning over the fucking cat – so you're getting the fucking fur ball! And you better fucking like it!_

I checked with Jennifer to make sure he isn't allergic to cats, and surprisingly, he isn't. He's mentioned that he feels lonely at times, especially in the evenings. Though we talk almost every day and most nights, he craves physical contact with me. _Who doesn't?_

I've been concerned about this particular need, but not jealous. Nope - Brian Kinney does not do jealousy. But I am rightfully concerned. Historically, a lonely Justin has sought out companionship – unfortunately, he's always made contact with the lingering kind. We both still trick, but that's not the problem. I'm concerned by the fiddlers and virgin, college boys who don't follow the proper protocol of 'kick them to the curb' tricking. When the fucking is done, they must leave and stay gone – forever. Therefore, I logically came to the conclusion that a cat would be a lot easier to throw out of our bed than a human companion.

He doesn't know it, but tomorrow's potluck, non-surprise, surprise party really will be a surprise for him. I've arranged for Jennifer and Molly to be there; they arrived at Tall Cedars this morning and are now enjoying the many amenities of Georgia's lavish, palatial lake house. They'll be bringing the fur ball. So, those are two of my surprises for the twat - his family and the fucking cat. There's another surprise, but he'll get it when the time is right. _I don't do presents… I do surprises._

I finish my last stroke of the razor and take one last look at his face, checking for any missed razor-sharp hairs that may be lurking. As I apply moisturizer to his face, I admire the baby face that is slowly growing definition and forming sculptured edges. _He's going to make a handsome – no – a beautiful man. He'll never have that harshness that is a component of handsome. My boy will always be beautiful. Always._

I'm done and he looks hot and fucking perfect. I take payment in the form of a long, lingering kiss. "Ooooh, soooo much better! Let me see, aged twenty years, reared in the sunny, west side of Pittsburgh," I kiss him again, "A cheeky, sassy blend of twink, artist, and just a hint of sexual frustration. Ahhh, I do believe that it is time for you to be uncorked."

He grabs the front of my shirt front and pulls me into a hot, wet, long kiss. Then, he nudges me away and quickly throws all the towels in the hamper and prevents me from cleaning up the bathroom. "Noooo - I'll take care of that later. Now it's time for the old pervert to do vile, disgusting things to his partner."

He prances away, but not before I deliver a hardy slap to his sweet ass. I follow him into the bedroom alcove and am treated to a enjoyable little strip tease. There's no need for the enticement, I've been ready to claim his ass since this morning. I'm hard as a rock, again. But I don't act on it; I want to enjoy the show. I lean against the wall and admire all the fine attributes of my partner.

After the show, he climbs on the bed and lies on his stomach. He leans his head on his propped up arm and wiggles his ass as an invitation to join him. His bubble butt looks like a marshmallow – soft and white; my favorite treat. It beacons me to come and enjoy it.

I slowly discard my clothes, knowing that he's watching. My slowness is deliberate; I'm giving him his own little show. When I finish, I don't go to him immediately. I take a minute to commit this moment to memory – him, in all if his golden-hair glory. His pale skin contrasts vividly with the dark, blue, bed coverlet. I know I objectify him at times, but what can I say, the artist is a piece of art.

_Why… why him? Why is he the one? I guess I'll never know… _

As I lower myself down beside him, the memory of a visit to a particular doctor comes to mind. I really got to know Doc Joe, the homeless, ex-military physician that saved Justin's life, after Justin left the Pitts. I visit him from time to time, and bring booze and money, both of which are greatly appreciated. He's a good guy, a bit of a loon, but he's been through Hell and back and it's to be expected.

About three weeks ago, Doc Joe said something quite profound to me and it made an impact. We were drinking and talking about nothing in particular, when out of the blue, he said, "Brian, you have it all – money, success, a child… but most importantly, you have someone who loves you for you. But, I can tell there's doubt in you and you don't know if you will keep that person close. That's a tough decision – is it better to be miserably happy or happily miserable? I made the wrong decision, I hope you don't. But, if you do, I'll have a seat at the fire, waiting for you."

I rolled that around in my read for some time. The bottom line seemed so obvious – do I want to be happy or miserable… but, it's a little more complicated than that. I know misery… I'm used to it and it never fells me. I've learned to hide it behind success and all the trappings of success_. Justin will find out soon enough what I decided. I hope he'll approve of it._

I comb my fingers through Justin's fine, golden hair and then hold a section up so that I can smell it. My mind can reproduce its smell at any time and any place – which is a blessing and a curse.

I kiss him and then he rolls me on my back and climbs on top of me. I close my eyes and focus on all the places that his body touches mine, enjoying the sensation that he creates in me. I feel his hand on my cock and I relax further, enjoying the firmness of his hand. He adjusts and moves further down my body until he's lying on my legs. I gasp when I feel him take my cock in his mouth – the sensations of the heat and moisture are almost too much. _It's so fucking fantastic…_ I stop him before I come, I don't want to come like this. I want to be inside of him.

I flip him on his back, grab the lube and rubbers, and show him just how much I've missed him.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Thanks for reading and all comments are apprecited. Sorry, but this chapter has not been beta-ed. I lost my beta during the creation of Chapter 10. I thank you for your patience.**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 12 - Epilogue: <strong>

**_Brian Kinney's POV_**

We're watching the Annual Porn Video Awards. It's almost midnight. _Five minutes to go._

We are lying together on the bed, though we're lying in opposite directions. Justin is on his stomach and his head is at the foot of the bed next to my feet. I'm thoroughly enjoying watching him laugh at the antics of the host. With every movement, his butt jiggles and it's very… stimulating. I smile to myself, realizing just how stimulating it is for me. I have to uncross my legs to give my dick room to expand.

I've been petting his legs and though he enjoys it, I'm actually doing it for myself. His skin is almost as soft as Gus' skin. The hair on his legs is sparse and very fine. It's so blond that it's almost translucent. Whenever I stop my strokes, he squirms, which is his signal for me to continue.

His legs are very toned now; his muscle development is far more advanced than when he was in the Pitts. He's been taking self-defense classes with the colony's female sheriff. She's a former Chicago cop, whose credentials impressed and intimidated Horvath. Though she's a big, strong, scary-looking, bull dyke lesbian, she's actually pretty decent and I trust her with Justin. From everything he is learning from her, he should be able to make a living as an assassin. All joking aside, I'm very pleased - his confidence is coming back and his fear of people has receded.

_It's good for him here... for now… _

He quickly turns around to look at me, his face is mottled with red blotches from laughing, and his eyes are brilliant, dark blue_. He is so beautiful, young, fresh, bright… so bright._

"Oh my God, it's Long Rod Johnson! He is _soooo_ short! Ted told me that he was and that they had to film him standing on boxes. I didn't believe Ted, but he was telling the truth! I bet he's no taller than 5'4" – I would tower over him! He looks like a kid compared to the other members of the Butt Plug Gang." I chuckle at his enthusiasm, and bite my tongue so that I don't share a witty barb about the height similarities between Justin and Long Rod Johnson.

Justin whips back around to watch the show and the sudden movement sends his pillow flying off the bed. He partially crawls off the bed and tries to retrieve the pillow. His ass is sticking up in the air and I notice that it forms a perfect heart shape, when presented at that angle.

_Will wonders never cease with this boy!_

The salacious smirk drops from my face when I notice that my partner is about to fall off the bed onto his head. He's overreaching for the pillow and he's completely unbalanced. I immediately grab his ankles to steady him.

"Got it! Watch out, I'm moving back." He nimbly twists and squirms back onto the bed. Instead of lying down, he sits up on his haunches with a devilish grin. My dick jumps at the sight in front of me – his hair frames his face and falls to his shoulders. _He looks like a wild jungle boy, or should I say a wild, hot, young, jungle man?_

My beautiful partner crawls towards me and I hold out my arms in welcome. The multiple, long-anticipated orgasms in the last six hours have sufficiently relaxed me and I am now able to start savoring our time together.

Justin drapes himself over me, props his chin on my chest, and favors me with an adoring smile. "I should nominate you for 'best performance by a living legend'. I'm sure many, _many_ men would cast their vote for you."

I pretend to contemplate his proposal, "Well, if there were a reality show category, I could see it… But, I wouldn't be caught dead with one of those awards. What happened to the crystal cocks? I like those better than those shitty Lucite blocks that they were handing out."

Justin giggles and strokes my chest, "I'll design an award especially for you. I'll base it on your cock."

I pull him completely on top of me and push down on his butt, which makes his dick push against mine. "I'll take your cock as my reward."

He giggles again and starts to lick and kiss my chest. It's very distracting, almost too distracting. _Is it time, yet?_

I glance over at the clock and I'm secretly pleased with myself. I've been planning this moment for a week now. I gently shake him to get his attention, "Hey, its 12:00 midnight."

His puzzled look brings a smile to my lips. I brush his bangs away from his eyes and quietly say, "Happy Ben's birthday, Sunshine."

His stunned expression quickly turns into emotion - his eyes fill with tears and his nose turns red. I pull him up so that I can kiss him. After a few minutes, his face is so gooey that I have to stop and let him regain his composure. I grab a couple of tissues from the side table and stuff them into his hand.

"Okay, if you're going to get all emotional, I'll say it the right way and maybe you'll turn off the water works, okay? Deal? 'Happy Birthday, Sunshine.'"

Justin's face is the epitome of shock and awe. But he recovers quickly and dazzles me with one of his finest smiles.

Then… he ruins the moment. The little shit starts to chant that fucking, annoying phrase that always pisses me off. "You love me sooooo much! You love me soooo, soooo much!" Then, he makes a stupid decision and says things that he really shouldn't, while using a sing-song delivery. "And you even said iiiitttt… earlier during seeeex. That makes three times! You've said iiiit three times now!" Unfortunately, the phrase did slip out when I came the third or fourth time. It was so garbled that I didn't think he heard it.

He rolls off of me and now is laughing out loud. He playfully throws the wad of snotty tissues at me, which I expertly bat away before it hits my face. I can't take any more of this shit, so I decide to shut him down. I assume a campy, Valley girl accent, "OMG, like you are so lame Sunshine! You hear those words even when I fart!"

Little Sunshine's laughter ceases, his smile fades, and in its place is now a big, pouty lower lip.

He mutters, "Asshole." He pretends to ignore me and uses his finger to draw an imaginary picture on the bed sheet. He's so pretty when he pouts.

I light up a cigarette and wait for his little sulk to be over. _You need to learn limits, little boy. And, you've got to learn to take what you give._

Then, he speaks, using the "little voice." He uses that particular voice when he's sulking. Unfortunately, the message it delivers is always something profound that I may or may not want to hear.

"I wasn't sure if it was one of the fives times that you said you'll say it. It shouldn't be. I didn't ask you to say it. But, I heard you… I… you've said it three times now, but you can't insult me afterwards. It's not fair. If you're going to do that, then just don't fucking say it."

_I'm an asshole prick that deserves to be road-kill on some backwater, West Virginia, country road._

Yes – I have actually said those fucking, three, asinine words to him. The first time, I was drunk, high, and in a weird mood… I actually told him that saying the words was no big deal for me… and like an idiot; I kept talking and declared that he shouldn't expect me to say it more than five times a year and only when _I_ felt like it. So basically, it was kind of promising him that I would say it five times a year... Yep, the hang-over the next day was particularly harsher than normal - the reality of what I promised hit me like a ton of bricks.

Well, now the little shit wants to hear them all the time. He says it all the time, but it's easy for him – he's not an emotionally, suppressed asshole… _I don't know why he puts up with me, I wouldn't. But, being an asshole is part of my charm. _

I reach over and stroke his soft hair. I force myself to speak and it comes out in a barely audible mumble. "I'm an asshole. I'm Brian Fucking Kinney, Asshole Extraordinaire."

He sniffs and says, "I shouldn't have teased you like that."

He chews on his lower lip and surprises me by not saying anything further. When he finally looks at me, he favors me with a shy smile. It slowly blossoms into one of his spectacular, radiant 'Sunshine smiles'. The smile is meant as a peace offering, but it means more than that to me. It's the smile that I long to see when I'm lost in myself, lost in my own darkness of self-hate and fear. It's a smile that redeems my soul. It's almost too beautiful.

_His smiles have driven men to madness… _

My left hand cramps up and I flex it, trying to calm it down. It's a side effect from when I decided to renovate the loft's window. It's something that we now have in common, bum hands. We've joked about it, saying that combined, we've got one good pair of hands. His hand is still the worst for wear, unfortunately.

He gently takes my hand and massages it.

_I wonder how long it will take him to find it._

He kisses my palm, then the index finger, then my middle finger… then he sees it. On the inside of my ring finger is my newest tattoo. It's my second one but it's the most important one.

He silently reads it over and over. Finally, in a hushed, reverent voice, he reads aloud what is written there. "It says 'ALWAYS' and there's a symbol. It looks like the sign for Pi. What does it mean?"

I'm tense, but not in a good way. _This is the moment of truth, now he'll know my decision_… but it's too much for me, so I try to defuse my tension by joking and belittling Justin. It's my classic, reflex response - to attack. I roll my eyes, loudly suck my teeth, and re-channel my inner Valley Girl. "You are sooo lame – for sure! It's like - sometimes I think you added on a zero on to your SAT scores. Like, for sure, I bet it was totally only 150, not 1500."

Justin is not amused. Before this moment spirals out of control, I decide to be proactive and pump up the size of my balls. I clear the catch in my throat and quietly say, "It's a 'J' and a 'T'… The top of the 'J' crosses over and forms the top of the 'T'."

He blinks and says aloud, "'Always JT.'"

After Doc Joe dropped his little pearl of wisdom on me, I holed up at the loft and did some serious thinking. His discussion was timely; I had started to feel uncomfortable with our partnership and I was planning to cut Justin loose. Yes, despite everything we had been through, and all of my inner-declarations and insightful realizations, I was about to make the same dumb-ass decision, again. I was going to throw him off the Kinney cliff.

He was here, in Michigan, standing on his feet and growing stronger every day… I've always admitted that he could do much better in the partner department… We were getting along, things were going fine, but - I missed him. I was pissed at him because I didn't like the feeling of longing and how it made me feel… vulnerable. I was also pissed at me, for not being able to handle it all.

But, after I ingested half a bottle of Beam and took a couple of hits of E, I saw things clearly. I realized that I didn't want to let go. I had to face my biggest fear – that he'll outgrow me and leave me - and he just might, he has before. Therefore, as the good doctor suggested, I made a decision - I decided to be brave, just like my Justin. I was going to go the distance with Justin and try to enjoy the ride.

_I know it won't be easy, but it's worth it… he's worth it… I'm worth it._

The next morning after my binge, I headed to the Dragon's Tail Tattoo Emporium and a girl named India, who was using her face as a place to store all of her earrings, did the deed. The tattoo will act as a reminder to me of the choice that I made and hopefully help me keep a cool head when my inner-asshole is on the rampage.

Even better – it will be there for Justin. Hopefully, it will help with the whole communication thing. I thought it would be extremely practical; if I can't say the words – then he can read them. That's what the tattoo symbolizes – those three words. He can read it anytime he wants and we'll never have to fight about it again – problems solved.

_Not bad for an asshole, if I do say so myself. _

_Huh… I've never before seen that expression on him before – I don't know how to describe it. Um… he looks like he's going to cry… okay, I'm expecting that… No, that's not it. He now he looks like… he's getting up – is he leaving? Where's he going? Shit, I fucked up! He doesn't like it! … What – WHAT THE FUCK! Is he having trouble breathing? _

Justin shot up to a sitting position and started to pant and gasp for breath. I quickly grab his upper arms and turn him to face me. "Justin, what's wrong, did you swallow something? Is this an asthma attack? Come on Sunshine, what's going on!"

He wildly shakes his head and tries to steady himself with deep breaths. He's able to gasp out, "Anxiety attack."

I shoot out of bed, fly into the bathroom and grab his anxiety medicine. While he swallows a pill, I run for a paper bag for him to use as a breath regulator. After what seems like an endless, black hole of time, he's calm and breathing without the help of the bag. I lay us down and hold him in my arms.

_God, I really fucked up. He's not ready for this. I got that fucking tattoo… what the fuck was I thinking?_

My mouth is dry, my brain is numb, and I feeling like a fool. "Sunshine, I –" He immediately clamps his hand over my mouth and says, "Don't! Don't do anything. Don't say anything… Don't ruin this for me." His voice becomes choked with tears and he struggles to clear it. "This… is the happiest moment… of my life… so don't fucking say anything to ruin it for me… it was just… quite a shock."

I start to chuckle and he joins in. Soon, we're laughing out loud and rolling around, engaging in gentle play-wrestling.

I let him pin me and silently welcome the weight of him on top of me. In between soft kisses, I share my unspoken thoughts. "Damn, Justin. I had anticipated a lot of reactions from you, but I have to admit that I never considered an anxiety attack." I smile at him and gently flip his nose.

He stills and looks at me with a thoughtful gaze... He's about to say something, I just hope it's something I want to hear. "I love you Brian, ALWAYS."

He gages my reaction and since I'm calm, he continues. "I am and will always be yours - always. This is…," His struggles with himself, trying to keep his emotions in check, "the best birthday gift… the best thing I've ever had or will ever have - ever. Always."

He leans over and slowly kisses me, "I know I'll never be in love with anyone else but you. I know I won't. You've the love of my life – and you always will be. Always."

I look into his eyes and quietly say, "Stop saying 'always,' it's getting on my nerves."

He giggles and nuzzles me with his nose. I can barely hear him as he whispers into my chest, "You're my one and only."

I'm starting to get antsy; I've reached my limit for warm and fuzzy. The good thing is that he doesn't seem to notice how uncomfortable I feel about this excessive breeder-like, albeit touching, moment. But, that's a good thing; it means I'm getting better at hiding my distaste for such displays. He kisses me deeply and all of my unease is forgotten.

_One last thought for the memory book - the panic attack was an interesting twist. I'll definitely never forget that moment. I just hope I don't have nightmares over it. _

Thank God, neither one of us speaks further. Instead, we resort to my preferred way of expressing feelings. We kiss and caress each other until we're fully aroused, then follow it up with a soul-inspiring fuck session.

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><p>It's very late in the night now, or very earlier in the morning, depending on how you look at it. Justin is asleep; he's draped over half of me, with his head on my shoulder and a leg thrown over my hip. As I smoke a cigarette and enjoy a glass of Beam, I stare at our reflection in the mirrors above the bed. My current thoughts are the type that I save for only this time of the night.<p>

_Emmett – I didn't let go. Debbie – I found a way to keep him safe. Doc - I decided that it's better to be miserable with him than without out him, don't hold a seat for me. _

_He's the light of my life… the light that shines through the darkness._

While I look at my refection in the mirrors, I suddenly have an epiphany. _So, this is what 'happy' looks like – and my retinas didn't burn out… _

In his sleep, Justin moves closer to me - where he belongs.

_**FINI**_

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><p>Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Comments are so very, very appreciated.<p> 


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